Moving Onwards
by Pat Squared
Summary: What happens after graduation? A familiar foe embraces evil? The brave fall and a new generation must rise up to the challege. This story is not for the faint of heart and touches upon distrubing subject matter. Rated M for a reason.
1. Carrot & the Stick

WARNING

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This tale contains adult situations including explicit sexual acts, child abuse, vulgar language, and graphic descriptions of violence.

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RATING Mature (Ergo – Not for kids) Also, I don't own Kim Possible or have any connection to Disney.

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**WRITE A REVIEW **

Go ahead feed the muse,

She won't bite!

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**MOVING ONWARDS  
The Carrot and the Stick  
By Pat Squared**

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Twelve months of guzzling cases of Extreme Dew (Due to the high caffeine content relative to cola and coffee) and chronic sleep deprivation finally paid off. Ron Stoppable managed to rapidly move through the twenty three problems on his Calculus AP final.

Question Number 6 - The indefinite integral of two x-square is two thirds of x-cubed plus some arbitrary constant.

Question Number 16 - The derivative of tangent of u with respect to x is secant square of u multiplied by the derivative of u with respect to x.

Question Number 23 - Hook's Law is that a force exerted by a spring equals the spring constant multiplied by the change in length and is opposite in direct to the elongation of the spring and potential energy stored in a spring is directly proportional to the square of the elongation.

The answers flowed from his normally vacant head down his arm through the mechanical pencil unto his examination booklet without a moment's pause.

It was amazing want Middleton's High School walking definition of a B type personality, number one goof-off, and slacker, Ronald Dean Stoppable could do if given the proper motivation.

Sitting in front of Ron was the motivation to perform the ultimate miracle.

It has been twelve years since he got caught playing _doctor_ with the red-head sitting in front of him. He still remembered the threats that her father made about launching the young boy into a black hole.

Talk about a scary thought for a six-year-old. Dr. James Timothy Possible (the rocket scientist and the redhead's dad) once explained in great and terrifying detail about the boy's internal organs being both simultaneously crushed and ripped apart by gravity at the same time.

Ten years later, Ron saw what Kimmie, now a teenager, looked like was under the clothes. He definitely liked what he saw. The brain switching machine incident managed to deliver the goods that fuel the young man's almost nightly wet dreams.

It made all the nightmares about black holes worth it.

Ron was not some mentally sick and perverted peeping tom, nor did he ever intend to violate Kim's trust and peek in on her.

However, when the brain switching incident occurred, he was stuck in Kim's body.

It was not Ron's fault that he had to take a shower and dress like Kim.

Ron had to put up with the painful experience of shaving his/Kim's armpits and bikini line, and that required looking into the mirror.

The memory of the strawberry nipples, small freckles around her nipples, and neatly trimmed red tuff of pubic hair gave Ron Stoppable another hard-on that. And the one time he gave into curiosity and touched down there...who said that girls did not have orgasms lied.

Before he stood up to turn in his exam, he would have to scare away by remembering the one time he walked into his grandmother's bathroom by accident when great-grandma Stoppable was getting out of the shower. He had to think of the nasty stretch marks and splotchy skin for five minutes before there was any hint of control over his erection issues.

Ron had to throw in the memories of his old camp mascot, a monkey, to get his erection under control.

Ron could write, in fact he did write every day in his head, an essay comparing and contrasting between Kim, age six, and Kim, age sixteen.

Kim Possible had a locked in scholarship into Cornell University in upstate New York.

Furthermore, she managed to negotiate a scholarship for Ron if he can pull straight A's during his senior year and ace (score a 5 out of 5 possible) five AP exams. No one could believe that Ron would be able to pull it off -- No one but his companion from Pre-K.

To help Ron pull off the miracle year, Kim Possible stepped down from her position the cheer squad captain, senior editor of year book committee, presidency of the forensics (speech and debate) club, everything but her Global Justice missions to crack the whip over Ron.

There were times, Ron wanted to give up.

However, by using the carrot and the stick, Kim Possible turned the young C/B- student into Middleton's latest academic prodigy.

The reward system was simple.

If he failed, Kim introduced Ron to pain through a nasty gymnastics workout. The football team did not work out half as hard in the entire season as Ron did during one of Kim's warm-up drills.

If he succeeded, the rewards were a taste of the grand prize.

A little tongue wrestling if Ron could pass one of her ad-lib pop quizzes.

A little rubbing when he brought home an A on his test.

In addition, Kim would perform a little striptease here and there to keep him focused on the goal.

Once she let him dry hump her.

Contrary to all the rumors about Ron being the clueless boy in the class with respect to sex, Ron Stoppable had the libido that rivaled that of any teenage male.

However, it was more than sex that drove Ron to put forth the supreme effort. He had something special with Kim Possible that only they could understand. They were the best of friends before they realized that they were more than friends.

In two days, if he scored A's on the finals, he would receive the ultimate carrot - A paid four-year scholarship to Cornell's legendary culinary and restaurant management school, a pad alone with his hottie girl friend, and all the nookie he could handle as long as he kept up the grades.

Motivation was the only thing that he needed.


	2. Farewell to Middleton

**MOVING ON**

**Chapter Two: Farewell to Middleton**

**By Pat Squared

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**If the dictionary had to give an example of the ideal, obedient daughter, Kimberly Anne Possible's picture would be posted next to the definition.

However, the perfect girl hid a secret from her parents:

For the past couple months, the supposedly young, sweet, innocent Kimmie obtained a birth control pills and reading up on the various illustrated sex manuals that she bought in one of _those_ stores.

Kim could not wait until tonight.

Two weeks pasted since Kim and Ron graduated from Middleton High School. They both wanted to truly consummate their relationship earlier, but there has not been a place private enough to do the deed without being caught. It was as if their parents instinctively knew what the pair was going to do.

Today Kim and her boyfriend, Ron Stoppable, were taking a flight to upstate New York and moving into their first "home" (really a small studio apartment) that she would share with Ron.

Tonight, Kim will deliver a proper housewarming gift to her boyfriend, one that he will never forget.

Kim felt a wetness between her legs at the thought of what Ron would do to her.

Everything was packed - Two boxes not to exceed 70 pound each and a custom laptop PC in its carryon case courteously of Wade Load, the tech guru of Team Possible.

Kim slipped into a black pair of lady's dress slacks and a white blouse her grandmother, Nana Stoppable, gave Kim for a graduation present saying that a lady needed good clothes for every possible occasion.

Too bad, Kim mused, could not wear the skimpy black bra, she got from Vicky's Secrets, but her blouse was a little on the thin side.

Kim came out of her childhood bedroom and went downstairs towards the kitchen. Ronny was cooking up omelets and her favorite pancakes - chocolate chips with a hint of orange.

"Ron?"

"KP, grab a plate and eat. Airport food stinks. Plus, don't even get me started 'bout airline food. That stuff is so sick-wrong!"

Ron smiled flashing his trademark freckles and deep chocolate eyes at his girlfriend.

"You're gonna need energy tonight – We got lots of unpacking to do when we get to your new pad."

Ron then slipped Kim a wink as he slid the omelet from the pan to the plate, pointed to the table, and started preparing the next omelet.

Ron was Jewish as were his parents, but the Stoppable family was not that Jewish. They only ate kosher during the Jewish holidays and at the synagogue dinner functions. Ron loved bacon, mushroom, spinach, and cheese omelets made with cream to achieve the perfect fluffiness. The Orthodox rabbis would skin him alive if they knew what he ate.

Before Ron could finish his omelet and sit next to KP, the doorbell rang. Kim ran and opened the door.

"You go girl! I heard two lovebirds are ditching Middleton and migrating to New York and I just had to see them off. Besides, I had to give you these."

Monique was Kim's cutout for obtaining birth control pills and best female friend.

Monique slipped Kim another month worth of pills and a prescription which Kim guiltily slipped into her pocket.

"Besides you got to tell me how Ron ..."

Monique was also Kim's real world resource about sexual knowledge. Only Kim and Ron knew that Monique and her current boyfriend, Brick Flagg, were banging since hooking up at Junior Prom.

"Not yet, Ron's dad works out of Ron's house and I got the Tweebs stalking us with a camera just to see if we are even using our tongues when we kiss."

Kim shook her head in memory of that annoying photo flash the last time she kissed Ron.

Besides, Ron got us a cute little studio apartment for our first home and there is a certain romance in being carried across the threshold before being ravaged."

Monique instantly thought of getting her hands on a wedding type dress and doing something kinky with Brick once they arrived at USC (Bick – Trojan Football and a political science degree; Monique – Cinema).

"Well, just promise me that you will email me with the gory details."

"Monique, Ron and I don't kiss and tell!" Kim could not help turning red.

"Gotcha! You should blush more, you look really cute. Scratch that, if you keep on blushing, I would hate to have to explain to your mother why I'm coordinating your baby shower before I get a chance to coordinate your bachelorette party."

Kim could not believe that Monique would be making jokes while Ron's parents and her parents were in the living room.

If they overheard or even suspected what their little Kimmie Cub was going to do to little Ronnie Stoppable, Team Possible (retired) would be permanently split up.

Worse, her daddy would probably make good on his threat to shoot Ron into a black hole.

"Kimmie, who's at the door?" Dr. James Possible, Kim's dad, asked.

"It's Monique," Kim yelled, "She is just dropping by to wish Ron and me good luck."

Then she whispered to her pal, "_Ixnay on the exsay alktay._ Girl, you gots to keep the talk about reward night down. Both the 'rents are here, not to mention the Tweebs. Besides Ron's cooking breakfast, omelets and my favorite pancakes."

"Chocolate chips and all." Monique asked as the though of Ron's cooking replaced Monique curiosity about Kim's plans for Ron.

Kim smiled a wicked smile as she added the final touch to close the deal.

"Add Ron's infamous hundred thousand calorie mini-marshmallow, caramel and chocolate syrup."

Monique could never resist Ron's homemade pancake syrup.

"Count me in."

The girls made their way around the boxes to the kitchen where Ron was trying to keep the Tweebs from devouring all the pancakes. Kim and Monique raced in to help Ron protect their breakfast.


	3. Airplane Food

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Chapter Three: Airplane Food**

**By Pat Squared

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**

Two hours later the airport van pulled into the driveway and the men started loading up the boxes. It took longer to say farewell that it did to load Kim's and Ron's gear. 

The ride to the airport was uneventful. There was only one more pickup, two pilots, and four flight attendants working for some no name airline. The aircrew was dropped off at the Western States Airways drop off.

The cabbie asked, "Which airline, kids?"

Kim started to reply, but Ron cut her off with four words:

"Air National Guard Armory."

Kim looked at Ron in surprise and started to ask him what's happen to their Southwestern States Airways flight.

Nevertheless, Ron only smiled and whispered two words into Kim's ears that perked her imagination: "Mile High."

The Colorado Air National Guard had their armory at the cargo side of the airport.

It was an old brick building that looked more like a high school gym rather than a military installation.

Waiting by the entrance was Mr. Barkin standing in Air Force dress blues wearing silver oak leaves on his collars. Next to Mr. Barkin stood a slightly built, middle age man wearing an old US Air commando hat, sage green NOMEX jumpsuit with the nametag Stoppable, shoulder holster, and a US Marshal's badge was at the bottom of the steps of a small business jet.

Lieutenant Colonel Barkin, Colorado Air National Guard, looked at his two former students and then extended his hand towards Ron Stoppable.

"Ron, Kim. It's nice to see the two of you again. Do you want a coffee while my guys fuel up the plane," Mr. Barkin asked.

Kim was shocked that Mr. Barkin was so nice. Ron reluctantly extended his arm and shook hands with Mr. Barkin, who suppressed a laugh.

"Don't worry, the school board only pays me to bite the heads off students."

Ron was even more dazed. Mr. Barkin did not spring a trap on the pair. He half expected another trip to detention.

"Mr. Barkin the Ogre only works on school days when the students are watching."

Barkin laughed.

"Just keep it under your hat. I spent years cultivating the ogre and I don't want the work to go to waste. The school board is making me vice principle of discipline of Middleton High next year. You two are heading off to Cornell, right."

"Yep, Mr. B. Culinary Arts for me and Pre-law/Psychology for Kim."

"When you open another restaurant, I'll be by. I would like to chat, but I have paperwork to do. Drop by next time your in town."

Mister Barkin then turned towards the deputy US marshal.

"You too, Colonel. It's been too long since our pleasure vacation in Mogadishu. RPG's and AK's - Who says that we can not leave home without our American Express Cards?"

Barkin walked away.

"Ron, don't worry about moving your stuff. Colonel Barkin got a detail fueling up the plane. He will send some airmen to move your stuff. Is this the little lady your father has been telling me about?"

The marshal then hugged Kim and said, "You're now one of the family. Just call me Uncle Saul and I'll try not to call you kid. When's the wedding?"

"When we decide, I call you. Kim, this is my uncle...the one who got sent to prison. They flew him so much from prison to next prison, the staff forgot he was an inmate. He's now one of the pilots on Con Air."

Kim knew that Ron had two uncles, but did not know that one of them was going to fly them to their new pad.

"Isn't he gonna get into trouble taking us on a government plane and there is no mission?" Kim asked.

"Hold yer horses, y'all. Ron's pulling your leg."

Uncle Saul was laughing.

"I only did one small undercover jail assignment way back when. I'm now the guy who flies around keeping my eyes on the other marshals of JPATS, Justice Prisoner and Alien Transport System. We are not Con Air. That is the name given to us by some damn movie producer who couldn't be bothered to check out our website."

Uncle Saul lowered his sunglasses and winked at the pair.

"Besides I made a bunch of flights yesterday and due to an unspecified minor electrical problem, I had to make a cautionary landing in Middleton."

"Which I have just diagnosed as a loose circuit breaker for one of my backup radios. We pilots can not be fired for being too careful with a twenty million dollar aircraft, ma'am."

"By that time, there was no way I could get out to New York City to make a pickup and stick to the FAA's eight hour rule. I believe that I will make a technical stop to gas up before I land seeing how jet fuel is cheaper on the coasts. Besides I am saving the tax payers some money."

It was obvious that Ron and his uncle totally preplanned today's flight. There were far too many coincidences for it to be merely fate.

Uncle Saul continued on, "That's were you two love birds are getting off. Besides, I need to pick up half a dozen marshals and a medic to move my next guest."

"Who's your next guest?"

"Twenty two year old female named Sheena Groningen from Go City. She is a little young to be one mean lady with a nasty temper and a hundred page rap sheet – however, she's the only one to ever attempt a midair escape on a JPATS flight. I'm taking this one a little personal since it was one of my flights and I had a slight depressurization problem. She is very claustrophobic according to the shrinks so she is a sedate all the way. Somehow she could stand dens of evil, but she can't stand riding in aircraft if she in not at the controls."

Kim was shocked to find out that Shego was only four years older than she was. Somehow Shego seemed far older.

"She's still in jail?" Ron asked. Nolaw enforcement agencyever held Shego for more than a day.

"Didn't you hear? Shego tried to kidnap some diplomats at the UN. Well them UN police types don't have to abide by the same rules of engagement we ordinary law enforcement folks follow. They filled her with so much lead that she will sink if she ever tried to swim for it."

Saul Stoppable shook his head.

"Surprised, she is even alive myself."

He shrugged as he jotted down some more notes unto a small clipboard.

"Don't worry, Drew Lipsky ain't getting out of the pokey, anytime soon. Not with Shego in a coma."

Deputy US Marshal Stoppable lead Kim and Ron into the jet, pointed out the six-pack of cola and sandwiches in the small fridge in the marshal section of the aircraft next to the arms locker and went into the cockpit.

"If y'all have any questions or comments, ask me now. All the doors inside the aircraftautomatically lock so I won't be able to see you two until we're kiss the soil again in New York. If not, thank you for flying with Justice Prisoner and Alien Transport System and don't even think about playing with the prisoner restraints systems, they got a nasty habit of delivering shocks if tampered with. The flight is about two hours and I sorry there are no in-flight movies. You two gots to entertain yourself."

With those final words, Saul closed the cockpit door.

"Interesting uncle, Ron," Kim commented.

"His southern accent's a fake. He grew up in Colorado with the rest of the family. He's kinda the rebel of the family – Grandma wanted him to be a rabbi like gramps, but uncle Saul went off to the Air Force academy, did some time with some spooky outfits, and then he became a Deputy Marshal. He is my favorite uncle."

Kim had a nasty thought and decided to go with the moment.

"Ron, 'Nuf talk about your uncle and let's start thinking about our in-flight entertainment."

Ron caught the cue, cracked a smile, put his arms around his girl, and hugged her tightly.

Kim could feel Ron's growing erection sliding along her crotch through his baggy cargo pants. The old Kim would be mortified.

The Kim holding unto her boyfriend knew that she wanted more.

After the mind switching incident, she knew why Ron never wore tight jeans after his twelfth birthday, and wondered if it would be too big for her. Shouldn't be, women pushed babies out that hole.

Ron's kisses were gentle, belying his state of arousal.

Like spider bites paralyzed its prey, Ron's kisses poisoned her, paralyzing any lingering thoughts of being the virtuous maiden saving herself until marriage.

Somehow her tongue found her way into his mouth as he gently nibbled on her lip, tasting the juices, letting a chemical electricity take over her being. Slowly Ron slid down kissing the freckles on her neck.

Rufus took that as his cue to leave his familiar place in Ron's pocket and check out the fridge for cheese.

Kim pouted and thrust her hips towards her boyfriend.

"Mr. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. I'm just some innocent, sweet little girl and I don't know why I feeling a little hot in here. Maybe I should help you take off your shirt."

Kim was putting on a better southern accent than Scarlet O'Hara. If she did not stop, Ron would have to peel off sticky boxers.

Kim wanted to collapse, have Ron rip off her clothes, and play _Me Kim, You Ron, you don't get up 'til I'm knocked up_.

However, Ron easily held her up with one arm as he slowly removed her blouse and bra. Somehow that strength awed her, even though she knew that Ron had to develop strength to do the tosses that won Middleton High School the cheerleading nationals.

Kissing every freckle on her body, Ron's lips moved towards her left breast, his mouth attracted to her nipples as iron fillings to a powerful magnet.

One by one, articles of clothing landed on the cabin floor, as the two lovers tried not so hard to "cool off."

"Jesus, Mister. Your thingy is too stiff, so stiff it must hurt. Momma taught me that there is only one sure cure."

Kim cooed as Ron slowly massaged the young girl's strawberry nipples with his tongue and gently manipulate Kim's pleasure button with his fingers.

Slowly, Kim pushed Ron unto the cabin floor, holding him as she moved into position. Slowly she rubbed tip of Ron's manhood along the sensative lips of her crotch. She could smell the excitement and felt the warmth and wetness grow between her legs.

Even though Kim was a virgin, her hymen was stretched and weakened by years of gymnastics and the physical exertions that went with the profession of being a teen superhero. However Ron was more than large enough to eliminate the remnants of the final barrier.

There was no sharp tearing pain like Monique describe, just a slight pull and the fullness that Kim instinctively knew belonged within her. The flower of Kim's virginity was truly gone. First she just stayed there trying to experience the new sensation. However millions of years of evolution kicked in and both partners start moving their loins. With a few thrusts of his pelvis, Ron let the crazed lover inside the fiery hair beauty out.

Kim didn't care anymore about being Ms. Perfect or the dutiful daughter, but instead grind her crotch into Ron's pelvic bone as hard as she possibly could. She did not care about being sore or even if she was going to be knock up tonight. Kim just wanted to shed eighteen years of virginity into her memories and experience everything that Monique tried to describe to her.

_Up, down, grind, up down, grind_.

Kim rode herself into Ron with all her might trying to drive more of Ron's giant manhood deeper into her womb.

There were no thoughts of gentility, but sate the hunger.

A couple times, she slipped off to only have her lover plow back in.

"Ahhhhhh! Make me your bitch you stud. Shit, fuck, make me cry for more."

Part of Kim Possible's mind could not believe that she wasspouting off, begging to be bred like a brood mare in heat placed before a stallion.

Kim had always imagined that losing her virginity would be a gentle thing with candles alight and scented oils and soft delicacy, but the wild side of her just wanted to lose herself in the ecstasy of the moment.

Suddenly Kim felt Ron's mouth over hers sucking her breath away.

A feeling that she would never be able to describe took over her and only the fact that Ron's mouth was there, muffled the young girl's screams of pleasure and lust as she started to shake. She popped like a tire going over nails at over two hundred miles per hour.

Ron Stoppable stopped all rational thoughts inside his lover's head as he kept on pleasuring the redhead to popping sensations.

Intellectually, Kim knew this popping sensation that she was experiencing for the first time in her lifewere called orgasms, but in her mind, she would call them pops.

Ron eagerly explored Kim as Kim explored Ron. Each one devoured the other as the pair popped repeatedly.

Afterwards, Kim Possible just wanted to lay there with Ron still inside her. She groaned with longing as her lover pulled out and started cleaning her up her crotch with her panties.

"Ron, stop. I command you to keep that hard thing in me in until we have to go to the hospital to deliver our love child." Kim begged.

These words reawoke Ron's sexual appetite, but Ron know that he had to get Kim dressed before they landed in New York.

"KP, we are going to land and I don't think you want our parents to find out that we just traded in our virginity for memberships the mile high club."

Ron kissed his freshly deflowered lover on the forehead, the nose, the lips, ears, and chin as he clean up the blood and sperm oozing out of his true love's crotch.

This simulation served to only stimulate Kim to another orgasm. She went into a fit, her sharp nails scored Ron's back. When she recovered, Kim Possible gave her demand to her love.

"When we get home, let's skip dinner, and go straight to dessert - Sausage and honey, perhaps."

Kim's eyes opened wide as she got the message that dessert involved sausage dipped in a certain honey pot. Ron knew her too well for her to fake indifference now. She grab him and kissed him fervently.

"Thanks to you, I'm so not the virgin, anymore. You named your punishment, Ronald Dean Stoppable – It's sausages and honey in every room of our new home, including closets tonight. And you better finish what you start."

The couple barely got dressed in time for the landing.

Stuffing her sperm and blood soaked panties into her pants pocket; Kim knew that she would be Ron's nymphet forever.


	4. Cages

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Cages**

**By Pat Squared**

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A periodic beep and the discomfort of plastic ridges rubbing the back of her throat told Sheena Groningen that she was in a hospital intensive care unit.

The shackles on her limbs told her that she was a guest of whatever law enforcement agency was attempting to hold her.

Shego tried to focus, but it seemed somehow that her concentration was too mushy to ignite her glow powers. Her glow powers never failed her before.

Panic overwhelmed her as she started choking on her own saliva.

The heart-rate monitors were screaming as her heart rate accelerated, until Shego felt something sharp stab into her flesh and her body feeling even mushier than before.

Shego intellectually knew that she was hurt.

She remembered the muzzle flashes and the sensation of been repeatedly kicked in the chest. They were too many shooters even for her to dodge all the lead coming her way.

From the aches in her chest, Shego knew that some doctors opened up her chest to remove the bullets.

Nevertheless, she only felt a general sense of discomfort.

Instinctively she knew that she was badly weakened.

Drakken had lost his mind. He wanted to hold the United Nations hostage until they gave him Canada.

Since when did the United State respect the United Nations.

Not since Carter was giving away the Panama Canal.

To the Europeans, the UN was just another tool to get their way. Only the frothing at the mouth, One World types, even believed that the organization was the repository of virtue and the savior of humanity from the scourge of war.

The UN is a standing conference on corruption. It members were career diplomats.

They were all expendable really – Diplomats were far too easy to replace with another career crook with a degree in international relations. Overseas diplomats are the equivalent to lawyers in America. Both seemed to receive more professional courtesy from the sharks than even Shego did.

Shego knew that her boss, Drew Lipsky aka Drakken was not firing on all eight cylinders, but fate and some perverted idea in her head bound her to him as if she was his Siamese twin.

It wasn't lust.

The blue skin, blue trench coat, and pony tail had to go. The rotten teeth and his lack of hygiene turned off any sort of sexual interest on Shego's part. Not even the moodulator got her into his bed.

It was not admiration of his intellect. Shego knew that she scored higher in the IQ tests that authorities administered to prisoners than Doctor Drakken. It was that just sitting still and studying something boring drove her nuts. It was not anything that she could vocalize.

_What the fuck_, Shego mused, she was the one who would have to sneak out at night and modify the blueprints so that Drakken's henchmen built a doomsday device that actually worked.

_Personality, forget it. Drakken was a big momma's boy_.

When he went out on the world of villainy, Shego became the stand in for the role of Drakken's mommy and put up with his childish temper tantrums.

How many times did she vow to herself to leave Drakken's service and retire?

Two three four dozen.

Money was not a problem.

During Shego's brief tenure as Senior Senor Junior tutor in villainy, Senior Senor Senior taught her more about money management than most Certified Financial Planners learned in a lifetime. Too bad Junior is so dumb that he would blow the money in a heartbeat once daddy's dead.

Shego has stashed several dozen million dollars worth of investments all over the globe with dozens of attorneys managing her little, discreet financial empire.

The only excitement that Shego had in her life was her duels with that redhead Kim Possible.

Part of her wondered what messed up her head and led her to the live of a fugitive.

She grew up with an over bearing older brother, Hego, who only tried his best to hold the Go family together when her parents and grandmother were killed in the comet crash.

Mego and her youngest twin brothers, Wego, were constantly pushing her buttons.

Or maybe the answer was simpler. There was some kind of sick fascination for evil was woven into her DNA.

Only Shego knew the Groningen dirty family secret. Selena Groningen, Shego's grandma, was a concert pianist with a shady past that would shock even the most jaded thief or swindler.

Plenty of docs poke and prodded Shego to find out the source of her powers, but not a single one of them ever wondered who was the real girl behind the black and green jumpsuit.

Being treated as the freak and ignored by every boy she ever felt any fickler of affection towards taught her that freaks don't get any respect unless they rip it off along with the head of her tormenters. She would show them all that she was worthy of respect.

Shego privately admitted to herself that it was her fault that she ran away from her childhood home. She was upset over something minor and was far too stubborn to concede the fact that she left over something stupid to her brothers.

Her descent to crime was her own doing.

First she stole so that she could support herself and not end up turning tricks like the other runaway girls she encountered on the streets in the big cities.

Over time, Shego grew to love the challenge. She got to face off against the best guards and security devices in the world and regularly won. Soon Shego had the money to call her criminal career quits, but she had to always pull the perfect heist.

Even stealing and successfully ransoming the crown jewels of England was not enough for her. Stealing something very well guarded was like a dose of pure psychic O-Two that made her life worth living.

Shego hated herself ever since she became a freak.

Numerous suicide attempts only to be foiled by her rapid healing mutation.

Wrist slashing, she couldn't bleed out.

Hanging herself only served to stretch out the soreness in her spine.

Even getting drunk and crashing into a bridge pillar at over 180 miles per hour only gave her a short stay in the hospital while the doctors poke and prodded her like a scientist would poke an prod at one of those cute little lab rats trying to find out how she could heal so fast.

Shego prayed for something to end her misery.

Goddamn security – couldn't one of them make a head shot, maybe a shotgun blast decapitating her might have work.

Then her brothers would have to see that. She might have an ongoing feud with her siblings, but even Shego loved them in her own sick way and couldn't do that to them.

Now the authorities truly had captured her and put her in a cage.

Every since she was small, Shego hated cages.

She cried every time her parents placed her kitten, Boots, in the cage to be taken to the vet. Maybe it was because, deep down inside that she knew that she would end up spending the rest of her life in a cage.

The sarcastic young lady started pondering if she chose her fate or her fate chose her.

_Drugs and drink always make confused things clear and clear things confused._

Resistance was futile now. Her thoughts were slowing like pancake syrup in the freezer, and Shego knew that soon she would be unconscious.

Shego decided not to fight the urge to rest for now.

Later, she would get out and introduce some cops to what a pissed off woman with her powers can do.

With those deep thoughts, Shego surrendered to the chemical mist that infused her veins.


	5. FTX

**KP: Moving On**

**Chapter Five: Field Training Exercise**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**FOUR YEARS LATER.

Kim Possible was livid.

The rational side of Kim's mind would be the first to admit that the basis for her anger was totally irrational, but she was irritated still the same.

For the first time in her life, the pout, trembling lips, and puppy dog eyes routine did not work.

The greatest weapon passed down by generations of O'Conner females down to Kim Possible through her mother the former, Anne Shannon O'Conner did not work.

It was like an atom bomb not being able to destroy a house of cards at ground zero.

Instead of going to law school with her, Ronald was off at some FLETC (Federal Law Enforcement Training Center) place in Glynco, Georgia.

It was some place so small it does not even the post office seemed to know where it was.

Ronald went off to play cop.

He turned out Dr. Director's invite to Global Justice to join the US Marshal Service.

It seemed that Ron was starting to think he is Wyatt Earp or Doc Holiday now.

Kim rolled over, smelled Ron's familiar scent on a pillow, and threw it off the bed in a fit of anger.

DAMN HIM!

Why did he have to leave the safe and secure world of restaurant management where he worked a steady shift in a safe environment?

A career in law enforcement was for type A personalities like her, not a boy who had to be constantly seduced by his girlfriend to study.

Men and guns, one of her most liberal former psych professors called them phallic symbols and state that men who go into law enforcement or the military do so because of psychological castration and need the gun to reinforce their manhood.

PSYCHOLOGICAL CASTRATION MY ASS!

The last time they cuddled was definitive proof that Ron definitely was not castrated, physically or psychologically.

Ron was no longer the shy little boy who freak out over everything. Four years of being Kim's lover gave him more confidence. The only thing he still was afraid of was monkeys, especially those ninja moneys of Monkey Fist, which occasionally still spied on Ron.

She remembered the last time she and Ron went to the zoo.

It took the pout to get him to even visit the zoo.

It took all the tricks that she learned over the years to drag Ron through the primate exhibit.

Maybe she would call Ron and tell him that if he didn't come back, she would adopt a monkey. That should keep him from running off.

With that thought and a smile, Kim slipped to a very short, shear white-silk kimono that Ron got her went they went to visit Master Sensei in Japan last summer.

Kim remembered the traditional Japanese bath house and how she just had to scrub down her dirty, filthy lover-boy. It had been a couple weeks since she had an opportunity to sneak down and saw Ron.

The instructors at Yamanouchi ran off the last of the baby fat and gave him an impressive set of abs and fascinating network of muscles on his lean frame. The memory was too much for Kim not to play with herself, again.

BONNY ROCKWALLER, YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU LOST WHEN YOU DIS' MY MAN BACK IN MIDDLETON HIGH.

Afterwards, Kim went into the freezer to see what Ron left behind for breakfast.

She spotted something appetizing and crossing her finger placed the Tupperware container in the microwave remembering just in time to loosen the lid.

Four years of Ron personally tutoring her in the kitchen and all she ever mastered was how to place one of Ron's precooked meals and turn on the microwave without triggering a mini-mushroom cloud.

Kim was getting ready to fly down there and give Ron the ultimatum.

No. Kim could never stay angry with Ron.

Ron supported Kim and she would him.

She tutored him and help him max out his LSAT (Law School Admission Test) score and he tried (in vain) to teach her how to make toast without setting off a five alarm fire.

Maybe after a while Ron would wise up and go to law school. If he wanted to lock up the bad guys, he could always work for the US Attorney General's office.

The Kimunicator rang.

Maybe it was Ron. Looking down at the screen, she saw a familiar dark face.

"What's the stitch, Wade?"

Kim knew that Wade only bugged her if there was a serious emergency. The Tweebs were now doing Kim's old job even better than Kim ever done herself.

PLEASE DON'T LET IT BE THE TWEEBS.

Kim didn't want to be the one to break the news to mom and dad that her brothers were hurt on the job.

"Kim! Drakken ..."

Drakken was securely locked up while he was awaiting sentencing.

Kim let out a small sigh of relief. Then she knew that Global Justice wanted her to do just one more mission.

Then there will be another and another until she would be hooked back on the payroll.

It was hard to cut loose the first time. Now there was no way she was ever going back.

Anger was infused into her voice.

"Number one, Ron and I are retired from Global Justice.

"Number two, Ron is taking the advanced playing cop course down in some place called Glynco in Georgia. Besides, the Tweebs are driving our old friends crazy. Even Duff is turning in his retirement papers and giving up golf."

Kim could see Wade typing furiously away on his keypad.

"No problem. It's a simple mission right up Ron's alley. Drakken lost his final appeal. The judge will announce the decision tomorrow afternoon. Even though Shego underwent behavior modification, the authorities are afraid that someone will try to break him out. He did put up the twenty million dollar reward and there have been two attempts to collect."

"No Wade. I got ..."

"Kim, let me speak."

The young man sighed.

"Ron is already part of the prisoner transport detail. It was not his call or even the call of the Marshal Service, but Global Justice pulled their strings. That is fixed and no one can change that right now. The marshal service will issue Ron his credentials tomorrow morning and assign him to the detail. Dr. Director just needs someone from Global Justice who knows how to handle Drakken for the few hours it take to ship him to the nearest black hole.

"In return, you get a tax-payer funded seven days and six nights on an undisclosed tropical island alone with Ron. The first flight back is in a week and I reserved you a spot in a five star hotel. Think of it as an early pre-engagement present. I guarantee that you will have him pop you the ring."

"Anything else, you shouldn't tell me?"

Kim knew that Wade played her on this one. She had to remain strong or she would end up back on the payroll and that would serious cut into her Ronnie time.

"Ron is trying to telepathically send you the pout until you say yes. He is the one who pushed for you to be on this one with his bosses at Justice once he got shanghaied. He said that seeing Drakken permanently put away would be a fitting close."

"OK, I get the message! I was going done to Georgia for the graduation. Five bucks says that the first world Ron is going to say is 'BOOYAH' the second you tell him that I broke down."

"No bets, Kim. I kind of like to keep my cash on me a little while longer."

FOUR HOURS LATER

Ronald Dean Stoppable was pacing up and down the terminal wondering if KP would still recognize him.

Since Deputy US Marshals guarded some of the worlds worse felons who did nothing but worked out all day, deputy marshals had to buff up too. Ron managed to pack twenty-five pounds of muscle and lose the flabbiness gained from taste testing all those nacos and other delicacies he invented. Although he was not as buff as he was during that incident back in high school, he was bigger than he ever been naturally. All his old clothes no longer fit properly and all the time on the outdoor ranges significantly darken his skin.

Ron knew that the hot looking girls were now attracted to him.

When and his classmates hosted a cold one at the local bar, he fended the girls off with the lie that he was already engaged. He was in a way already married to a certain redhead.

Ron wondered if the old tree-house was still there and who is now playing in it. He wondered if Kim melted the microwave again tying to cook a meal.

Ron wondered if Kim still loved him after the six month separation.

Kim snuck down a couple weekends and he snuck up back to upstate New York deadheading on JPATS flights, but it wasn't like he was home all the time.

_Would things still be the same?_

For the tenth time this afternoon, Ron reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box.

Ron was going to make the understanding he had with KP official. He owned it to Kim who stuck by his side, even when he decided to change majors from restaurant management to pre-law studies and public administration enraging everyone back in Middleton.

Opening the box, he looked down on the ring that he had custom made for the occasion.

He planned this day with great care. He was going to make the understanding he had with Kim official before man and God.

Carefully closing the box, he scanned the crowd in the terminal.

It was September and students were returning to college and others were returning from vacation.

He and his fellow students were on the final field training exercise trailing an instructor playing the role of a fugitive. Unlike other such training events, they were out in the field around civilians who did not know that there was an FTX, or field training exercise, happening in their midst. The pistols were specially modified GLOCK 17's firing FX simulation rounds. Upon impact, they left a nasty welt and bright red splatter.

"Heads up. Cute redhead gate 21. Five-four, one-ten, green eyes and tight jeans. Great body, perky tits, nice ass. I think I'm in love and want to see if I can score some digits."

The voice hissed from Ron's flesh-toned earpiece. It was Miguel Cortez, Ron's 'partner' and former NYPD officer with an overactive libido and a track record of finding needles in a haystack.

Ron wanted to yell at Miguel to keep focus.

Ron was playing the role of team leader and if the team messed up, he would be the first to lose his balls on the chopping block.

The description was all too familiar and Ron bit down of a chuck of home sickness. He could almost smell Kim hair and taste her strawberry nipples.

He has to shake off the image of Kim and him playing hide the sausage.

Glancing over at gate 21, Ron spotted the confused redhead.

It was too far to get a good look at the redhead, but then he spotted the instructor.

The instructor was too close to the redhead for Ron's comfort.

"Miguel, I spotted the big one, right next to the redhead. I'll do the approach. Be ready to back me up if I screw up the take down, everyone else is play crowd control. Mr. Cortez, don't you dare harm a hair on the redhead or hit on her."

"But she looked at me first."

"Miguel! Keep your pecker in your pocket and your mind in the game or I will serve you your balls for your appetizer tonight. Five to four our target has ESP?"

Static hissed in Ron's earpiece. "ESP?"

"An extra sneaky ploy. He have one ready if we don't lay him out fast."

Ron walked towards the redhead. It was Kim and he could not help but give her the goofy smile.

"KP!"

The redhead turned towards him, dropped her bags, and jumped into his arms. With a ferocity fueled by months of separation, Kim smothered him with kisses.

"KP!" Then Ron quiet whispered, "Wait one second. I'm still on the clock."

"But ..."

Ronald silenced her with a gentle kiss on her lips.

The instructor tensed up but then seeing young lady attack her boyfriend, figured that the muscular, blond just looked like one of his students and visibly relaxed. It was the signal that Ron was waiting for.

"One second and we will all the time in the world. Wait right here."

Ron kissed her again on the lips and smiled.

Suddenly, Ron took two steps and tackled the man with all the ferocity of the star Oakland Raider linebacker going to nail the star Kansas City Chief quarterback with the intention of sending the quarterback into permanent retirement.

Ron professionally bounced the target right into a nearby wall making sure to bounce the target's head and making him see more stars than on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

"US Marshal. US Marshal."

Five trainees with guns came running and screaming in as Ron slapped the cuffs on the dazed instructor. Ron pulled out a GLOCK with a blue slide, removed the magazine, cleared the chamber, and dropped it into a Ziploc bag.

"Christ Ron, you killed him!"

Kim shrieked wondering what got into the man she loved. Ron was busy hauling up the large, pock-face man unto his feet.

Miguel and two other trainees moved towards the trio with guns drawn.

"Eduardo Castillo, you hare under arrest for unlawful flight to avoid prosecution for performing lewd and un-Christian acts involving the corn dogs served in the cafeteria. It looks like you are going to be circumcised by a blind rabbi tonight. Fugitive in custody, guys. Holster your GLOCKS before you really start scaring the tourists. Miguel, Veronica, Stan take Mr. Castillo back to base. I got to calm down a hysterical witness. Meet you in half an hour or so."

Ron dispassionately searched the groin of his suspect and worked his way down the legs removing a folding knife and handcuff key.

"Just to make sure, take Mr. Castillo to the restroom and run a strip search and double check his cloths. We all know Mr. Castillo escaped the last crew that tried to cuff him. Do not forget the _cavities_. Be very thorough and triple check."

Mr. Castillo visibly winched at the word cavities.

The trio holstered their side arms and hauled Mr. Castillo away as he screamed bloody murder about civil rights violations and lawsuits.

"KP."

"Ron, how could you almost kill that man?"

"Kim, it was an exercise. That man was my boss, Eddy Castillo, Glynco's number one executioner, failed half my class in the first couple weeks.

"Mister Barkin bad side and my boss' good side were spawned in the same lab dish. It was my final training exercise and if I didn't nail him, he would have grabbed a hostage and then I would have to shoot him and then go through a mock shooting investigation and tactical board hearing. I wouldn't get out until three in the morning. I would be damned if he grabbed you. Besides, it is not often, I have an opportunity to beat up my boss in front of my girlfriend and earn and brownie points for it."

Ron hugged his girlfriend, careful to place his arms around Kim's waist so she would have to wrap her arms around his shoulders.

He knew that she barely accepted the fact that he would be the living embodiment of the motto, 'Have Gun, Will Travel!'

Despite growing up with a father and two brothers who hunted, Kim Possible was uncomfortable around firearms. The one time Mr. Possible tried to teach Kim about firearm safety, she freaked and since then she had a strong aversion to anything that went bang.

Ron didn't want her to accidentally feel his pistol in the small of his back.

Yes, somehow the two managed to beat the villains without resorting to lethal force, but now things are so bad the even that Global Justice was rapidly phasing out teen agents because they could not carry or use firearms on the job.

Ronald shooed the dark thoughts asides.

He could not get caught up in the 'what-ifs' anymore. Looking into the familiar green orbs, he knew that Kim was still scared.

The speech he practiced wouldn't cut it. Thinking fast, Ron went on instinct, hugged her, kissed her, and whispered:

"I love you so much that I don't know what I'll do if anything happens to you. Please don't hate me when I act to protect you, I'll die if you do."

Kim could not believe what Ron was saying. She knew that Ron loved her, but now she knew that Ron would throw everything away even his life, just to make sure that she was safe. He was showing her a side that no one else would ever see, a private side that only she would know.

"KP, I can not image a lifetime without you. I want to be the father of our children, to be there when we kick our last fifteen hundred dollar tax deduction off to college with glee, be there to outrageously spoil our grandkids, and be there when we are old and incontinent and fighting over the dentures. Will you marry me?"

Despite the light tone in his voice, Kim could see that Ron was scared. Even a troop of wild monkeys were not a scary as this moment was to Ron. Her lover was trembling and on the verge of emotional collapse.

She was afraid to say anything.

Therefore, Kim answered the question with a kiss, and a second, and a third.

"_Abuela de Batman!_ Forget that, _Jesus, Maria, y Josef!_ Are you two _loco en los cocos_? Ronny the Wolf-man finally chased down the elusive Lil' Miss Red Riding Hood that he has been bragging about and whacked Eddy Castillo the Infamous Axeman of Glynco at the same time. I want to find out how you mastered claming down good-looking, hysterical, female witnesses."

Miguel had a way of butting in at the wrong moment, gibbering like Rufus, on an extra cheesy naco high, but Ron didn't care about anything the lanky Puerto Rican said. The only person that was in the crowed terminal was Kim.

"What is the answer, KP?" Ron had to get a definitive answer.

"One condition," Kim whispered, "Plenty of honey and sausage."


	6. Type A Submissive

**KP: Moving On**

**Type A Submissive**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**If Kim Possible had to rank her various sexual escapades with Ron, the last night before Ron graduated from FLETC ranked up there with her initiation into the mile high club and the physical consummation of their relationship.

Everyone that believed that they personally knew Kim Possible expected her to be dominating force in her relationship calling the shots.

However, she knew that that alone with Ron, she couldn't help being submissive.

It was ironic for the type A succeed to extreme personality, but with Ron there was no pressure, only unconditional acceptance, only the fact that he smelled, and felt so comfortable. He was the first one to make her feel comfortable sharing quiet moments without feeling guilty about not doing something productive with her time.

Ron grew up from his days as a bumbling dork in Middleton High.

He matured into a man, yet he was willing to be her bumbling dork if that is what made her happy. He still would have that goofy smile that he saved for her. Too bad he had to shave his head so close, but the messed up hair would, hopefully, grow back.

Beside, Kim was beginning to enjoy the feel of the stubble on the top of Ron's head. She caught herself rubbing it. Ron loved flipping her hair and she loved feeling his stubble.

Kimberly P. Stoppable – That name feel so right.

It such sounded better than Kimberly P. Mackey or K.P. Flagg or Kim P. whatever Eric the synthodrone's last name was suppose to be.

Kim would hum that name to herself as Ron took her beyond the stars.

That night, she flushed the birth control pills dreaming of the day that she would actually carryRon's child. Tonight would be the first night of risky sex and Kim got a nasty thrill from not giving a damn if she got knock up.


	7. Failure to Function

**KP: Moving On**

**Failure to Function**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

Kim Possible watched in horrid fascination as her fiancé, Ron Stoppable, squeezed into his mission gear, and checked his equipment. 

The sound of the slide of Ron's GLOCK 22 slamming forward and chambering a round particularly unnerved her. Ron wondered what Kim would think when he would later prepare his M4 Carbine. The world was becoming violent and law enforcement had to play catch-up ball with bad guys would no longer gave a damn about who they hurt.

The transformation from sensitive lover to modern day gladiator sent shivers down Kim's spine, but she knew that the gear was there to ensure that Ron would return home unharmed even if things went horribly wrong.

The days of the US Marshal wearing the black suit, ten gallon hat, the long, classic Western duster coat, and two Colt Peacemakers single-handedly bringing the law to the Western Frontier were long gone. Now Ron looked like he was single handedly going to invade South Central Los Angeles and hit every crack-house and meth lab in sight.

What scared her most was when Ron placed his olive green Nomex flash hood and became Wolf. It seemed his eyes went from the soft brown that she remembered to the harsh eyes of a predator seeking its next meal. Ron pointed his GLOCK 22 towards the ground, extended his arms, and focused on the self luminous combat sight to burn the sight picture into his memory.

Methodically Ron went through every piece of gear. It was as if she was not there and he was going to kill. Ron was putting on his game face and Kim cursed the lost of the innocence Pre-K boy she once knew.

"Kim, let me help you with that."

Ron gently secured the assault vest on Kim's slim body. Not normally designed for female frames like Kim, Ron had to make significant adjustments to the straps. He hand lingered just below her ribs, his fingers tracing, _I ♥ U_ as he looked into her eyes.

Kim was holding back tears.

Delicately, Kim moved her left hand towards Ron's face.

She wanted to remove the hood, to see his eye turn back to the soft brown eyes that she looked into last night.

The soft brown eye that made her felt comfortable.

As an on-duty Global Justice agent, Kim was technically authorized to carry the same class three arsenal (All machine guns are designated by the US National Firearms Act of 1934 as Class III weapons) as Ron, but Ron knew that Kim was not comfortable around firearms.

Watching Kim suffer through the quickie firearms familiarization course only confirmed Ron's snap judgment – Firearms and Kim mixed as just about as well as Kimmie and cooking.

So after speaking to the mission commander, it was agreed that Kim would carry an air taser, one expandable baton with built in cattle prod, and a Mossberg 590 pump-action shotgun loaded with close range rubber baton rounds - Painful, but not as lethal.

"KP. Don't worry. You only have to wear the hood from the time we leave the facility until we are in the air. We just don't want anyone to know which one of the convoys holds our guest. If anything happen, just hang unto Drakken, and stay with me. I will provide the covering fire. Just make sure to whack Drakken a couple times with your baton and he won't be any condition to run."

Ron gave Kim a brief hug and as he double checked her vest

The ballistic impact plates were heavy and Kim wondered how the other agents could move so effortlessly while carrying all that extra weight. They weren't all built like NFL linebackers. In the past, Kim's speed and mobility were her weapons. Now, she was weighted down by over forty pounds of gear.

Ron was only point of reference as Kim entered the shadowy world of law enforcement special operations.

Four US Marshal Service High Risk Warrant and Fugitive Recovery Teams and hundred of local law enforcement were mobilized to move one man from Washington D.C. to an undisclosed location. Ron led her to a seat near the front row.

The briefing was short. Everyone knew the plan and Kim could smell the adrenalin oozing throughout the room.

Twice, criminals have attempted to collect on the twenty million dollar reward Drakken posted. Somehow, despite all the efforts, Drakken somehow raise the award to thirty million in the past week.

Eleven officers were in hospitals and two police funerals were held, because of the greed generated by Drakken's promised reward money.

Ron squeezed Kim's hand in a vain attempt to reassure her that thing will be alright. In her youth, Drakken was an irritation; Shego was the one that Kim respected as a dangerous foe. Ron's would be the one who would take on the blue skinned freak while Kim handled the fiery tempered woman.

Today, Drakken has become much more dangerous than Shego ever was. Drakken had blood on his pitifully small hands. Drakken knew that the reward would mean that vicious armed killers would be hunting for the reward, yet he did it. If Ron got hurt, Kim vowed that Drakken would serve his life term in agonizing pain.

"Red, it's time to go."

Kim almost ignored the message until she realized that she was given the nickname Red because of the comments by Ron's classmate. Since there are multiple people with the same first name, everyone was assigned a code name. From here on in, the names Kim and Ron did not exist - Only Wolf and Red.

Kim and Ron followed the local county sheriff cell extraction team to Drakken's holding cell. Drakken's blue skin clashed with the orange jump suit. He sat up and smiled at the guards like they were taking him to an amusement park.

Ron and another deputy marshal placed Drakken in the prisoner restraint system and place the bulletproof vest on the blue man. Drakken had the legal right to hear his sentence pronounced. With it would mark the end of a period in Kim's and Ron's lives.

"Drew Lipsky, Global Justice Agent Red and I will be your shadow for today. You are being taken to the courthouse for the conclusion of your sentencing hearing.

"Should you attempt to escape or should someone attempt to spring you out, we are authorized to use lethal force. There will be no warning shots, we do not shoot to wound, but to drop any target in its tracks. Red here will use her shotgun to vent your brains like one of those Jackson Pollock paintings. Think of her as the babysitter with the ultimate axe to spank you with. Do you understand the consequences of what will happen if you try to run or if someone attempts to collect on your twenty million dollar bounty, or do I have to draw you a diagram?"

Ron voice sounded like that of one of the old Western hangmen. He stared down Drakken locking his eyes into the eyes of the supervillain.

Drakken attempted to stare down Ron, but the Wolf does not back down, especially in front of his mate and pack. Ron bored his eyes into Drakken's empty soul.

Twenty seconds later, Drakken lost the contest of wills and looked away.

"Get up, Mr. Lipsky. You will follow the two deputy marshals in front of you. Global Justice Agent Red and I will follow you. You at all times will be chained to one of us until you either arrive at your final detention center or are release by the judge."

Drakken was obviously taken back by the cold, brutal tone of the man he only knew as Wolf and tried to summon an air of superiority. Kim waited for Drakken to walk ahead of her before giving Ron the thumbs up. Ron nodded his head.

The radio went off.

"Couriers, TAC-Air reports clear roofs."

Five police choppers were making sure that no one was waiting on the roof with RPG's. Everyone did not want a repeat of what happened two weeks ago, when some of DC's more violent gangsters tried to play a _Mogadishu_ with some surplus Soviet Era RPG's on a US Marshal convoy erroneously believing that Drakken was inside. Two deputy marshals were killed and many innocent bystanders were seriously injured in that attempt.

"Sam Lead reports all clear."

Sam Lead controlled the police countersniper teams and made sure that no one is going to play Lee Harvey Oswald today. Twelve match winning sharpshooters and their Robar SR90's .308 Winchester bolt action rifles were scanning the windows opposite the men's jail.

"Pockets reports good pickings."

The undercover officers mingling in the crowd and media area just reported that there were no bad guys hanging out in the crowds nearby.

Ron ensured that Drakken was seated between two large marshals and was seat-belted in place.

"Ax to all couriers party starts in one." Eddy Castillo made sure that everyone was in position.

Twenty minutes to the courthouse and then forty more minutes to the airport. Everyone knew the schedule.

The convoys moved out on cue. Ron eyes bored in on the prisoner. The prisoner acted as if the ceiling was the most interesting thing in the van.

Ax voice broke over the radio.

"Heads up, folks. The media was tipped off on the time and location of the sentencing hearing half an hour ago and I assume the bad guys know as well. Time to put on your game faces and expect some unwanted company. All units boots and saddles."

The driver of the van stomped on the accelerator as sirens started lighting off.

Something about the siren seemed wrong to Kim Possible. It did not rise and fade like the sirens she heard as a kid. It was just a steady wail.

GOD, PLEASE LET EVERYTHING BE OKAY. DON'T MESS THING UP FOR US. PLEASE FOR RON'S SAKE. AMEN.

Although Kim's family were technically Irish Catholics via her mother, they were not exactly known for their attendance at Mass. The Possible family would be lucky to make Easter and Christmas Mass on the same year.

However, Kim still remembered the prayers that the nuns taught her in Sunday school a long time ago. She wanted today to be over and Ron to be safe. She knew that she would have to live with the fear that all cop wives face when their husbands went off to work.

Kim's mouth was dry and her heart was beating like it never did during the missions of her youth. At sixteen, she was immortal and nothing could hurt her. Now she knew all too well the consequences of failure and feared that the price would be too high.

Worse, there was nothing that Kim Possible could do at the moment. She was as helpless as an unborn child in the womb. Ron had to be the Wolf and protect the pack.

One can not protect the pack and be playing with the pups at the same time. Now was the time for the bearing of teeth, not nuzzling.

Surprisingly, Ron leaned back and started singing the 'Lil Red Ridding Hood song. The tension in the van was broken as the other deputy marshals were joining and Kim was glowing red under her Nomex flash hood.

A weight lifted off of Kim's heart. Ron instinctively knew that she needed reassurance and delivered the goods in the classic trademarked Ron style.

Kim took a deep breath of the stale recycled air and joined in on the chorus. Her big bad wolf was a still a puppy at heart.

"Thirty seconds to show time." Muttered the vehicle commander.

The van made a hard left as the drive stepped on the brakes. Instantly the other deputy marshals were outside, taking their prearranged positions, ready to engage any unseen threat. Ron quickly unbuckled Drakken and literally dragged him into the courthouse as Kim followed with her shotgun trained on the captured villain. It was funny watching Drakken being thrown around by the _Buffoon_ that he underestimated for years.

The sentencing was uneventful.

The judge threw the book at Drakken - Multiple sentences totaling over six hundred years to be served consecutively, not concurrently. Drakken would not be eligible for parole for over four hundred years. Everyone stood up and the judge left.

The instant the judge crossed the threshold into her chambers; Ron had Drakken on his feet and started dragging him towards the vans. The other deputy marshals quickly moved into position forming a diamond around the prisoner. Kim had to hurry to stay by Ron's side.

Twenty three seconds later and Ron literally threw the blue skin man into the van and motioned for Kim to get inside.

He then provided cover as the other deputies moved into position while counting off to ensure that no one was left behind.

Just as Ron was stepping into the van, he was pitched forward face first into the cold metal floor. The unmistakable sound of a supersonic round hitting Ron's vest told Kim everything. Two deputy marshals grabbed his arms and yank him into the van as the van speed away.

"Shooters, brick castle, third floor, opening two."

Kim was alternately dry retching and crying.

God didn't hear her prayers.

Kim could hear the bullets hit the van as one of the deputy checked Ron. They yanked off his vest and checked.

Deputy Marshal Kevin Tong, aka Sumoboy, a somewhat chucky fifth-generation Chinese-American announced fate's verdict.

"Clear. The plate stopped the bullet. Radio's shot up. Wolf, you are going to just has a nasty bruise and a sore back later. Red, don't worry, a night in a hot tub with Red Ridding Hood will fix the Wolf-man right back up to peak performing condition. Just remember to give him some of your famous cookies."

Cookie rhymes with nookie, Kim realized. She felt a full body blush come on and wanted to strangle the fat bastard. But Ron stepped into the fray.

"Sumoboy, seducing girls in hot tubs are so old school. Right up with those one liners you use. Not even Juanita, the he-she with the 'stash, would bite your bait. What's next, a leisure suit with butterfly collars and gold chains?"

Ron gave Tong the finger and gingerly slid his bruised frame back into the vest, reattaching all his gear. The jokes did not releave the serious nature of what just happened. Ron Stoppable looked at Kim reached into his vest and handed her a small pistol and a spare magazine.

"Red, leave the shotgun behind," Ron whisphered, "Unless you practiced moving around in tight places with it, you will end up banging your elbows and bashing your ribs. Here is my back-up pistol. It loaded with a round in the chamber. All you have to do is just put the front sight on the target and squeeze the trigger. It has the New York trigger so it's a little stiffer than the pistol you shot, but it's easy to hit anything within twenty feet."

Kim wanted to argue. Despite having two brothers, a father, and grandfathers that hunted, Kim disliked guns. Maybe because her mother like many surgeons who worked in ER's, disliked guns. If Drakken's henchmen were armed like the villains that nearly killed ROn...Kim shuddered.

However, she knew that Ron was right. It was no longer a routine mission and the bad guys just proved that they were more than willing to kill anyone who got between them and twenty million dollars.

Kim looked down at the pistol. It was a smaller version of Ron's big pistol. GLOCK 27 made in Austria. The grip was plastic. The slide was steel. There were no external levers to flip like on the Beretta 92's that Global Justice now issued to its adult field agents.

Wondering how cops did not accidentally shoot themselves with this gun, Kim dropped the two spare magazines Ron gave her in her vest pocket. Despite not liking to shoot, Kim's father made sure that she learned the basics of firearm safety, before he tried in vain to take her hunting. Kim could not see the point in killing deer. Besides...she could not kill Bambi. She made sure that her finger was off the trigger and pointed it down on the floor.

Twenty two minutes of terror later, the van started slowing down. The airport police had a checkpoint up and running to prevent infiltration. Ron and other team members were scanning the area for threats through the bullet holes in the van.

Even though the airport was large, a good shooter with an off the shelf hunting rifle can easily hit a man sized target from the hills overlooking the runway.

Kim wanted out of the van. Being a turtle hiding in the shell was wearing down on her. She stunk of swear and fear. Everyone but Drakken reeked of the tension from the ambush. Drakken just plain stunk as usual.

The assault at the courthouse mess up the schedule and they were the only convey at the airport.

Instead of having nearly one hundred marshals on scene, there were only twelve. Deputy Marshal Reese had to make the call. The sheet metal of the van would not stop thirty caliber hunting rounds let alone a fifty caliber. The bad guys have shown a love for heavy ordinance. The sooner Drakken was in the air, the smaller the window of opportunity the bad guys had to collect on the money.

"Go, go, go."

The decision had been made. Following their Pavlovian conditioning, the deputy marshals moved decisively towards their area of responsibility.

The van doors opened and the US Marshals moved out into a wall of lead provided by two dozen men dressed in airport police uniforms.

Deputy Marshal Kevin Tong was the first marshal to fall. In the rush to get out, his helmet came off. One second later, a bullet vaporized his head blowing skull, blood, and brains over Kim Possible.

Kim froze in shock.

It was the first dead body she ever saw in her life.

Ron threw Drakken over his shoulder and pushed Kim out of the van and towards the mobile stairway as the other marshals laid down a wall of fire at the false airport policemen. Ron knew that he was leaving his comrades behind, but he was personally tasked to be Drakken's shadow. It was his task to stick to the blue skin freak.

The others were positioned to hold off the Drakken's rescuers until the pilot could get Drakken off the ground.

Three more steps and KP would be inside, Ron thought. Two loud blasts announced that the aircraft wasn't a sanctuary.

Kim dropped straight down, trying futilely to raise the pistol, but she was too stunned to do anything as she saw two men in a police uniforms march up toward her. Both of them lifted up their pistols and pointed them at the face of the man she loved.

Ron tossed Drakken up the stairs as he raised his M4 carbine at the shooters. Ron brought the assault rifle up to his shoulder and squeezed off half a dozen rounds at the first one who shot his wife to be.

The bullets walked up the target's body and into the head disintegrating it into a mist of blood, brains, and bone fragments. The other one was emptying his magazine at Ron but missed.

Kim flailed her legs knocking the second shooter down the stairs.

Ron quickly transitioned to the next target and pulled the trigger emptying his magazine into the target. However, the fates rolled the dice and it came up, snake eyes. The target got a lucky shoot off as he fell to the ground. It clipped the rim of Ron's Kevlar helmet, and ricocheted downwards.

Ron fell.

Drakken felt the tug as the chain connecting him to the one called Wolf when taunt. Looking down, Drakken saw that the man was in not condition to fight. He yanked the pistol out of the deputy marshal's holster. He carefully shot the chain connecting himself to the fallen deputy marshal and started going through the pockets for the handcuff keys.

Looking down at the Wolf, Drakken saw the injured man reach for his M4 carbine.

Drakken kicked aside the rifle, bent over, and place the pistol in Ron's armpit and pulled the trigger twice.

The arrogant one called Wolf was now too far injured to be a threat. Looking up at the slight figure, Drakken walked towards the Global Justice agent.

Kim saw Drakken shoot the man she loved. She was now trembling with conflicting emotions.

_Thou shall not kill_ clashed with the fact that Ron was hurt and that she had to stop Drakken.

Kim placed the sight over Drakken's face, but no matter how hard she squeezed, something in her mind prevented her from pulling the trigger.

"Weak!"

With that final judgment, Drakken emptied the magazine at Red. She was struck twice in the throat and once in the face. Retrieving two magazines from the fallen marshal, Drakken reloaded his pistol.

Knowing that most of the rounds actually missed the Global Justice agent, Drakken decided that he would be more frugal this time around.

He carefully placed the muzzle of the pistol just under her vest, angled it upwards in the general direction of her heart, and fired twice.

Walking up the ramp, Drakken knew that he truly crossed a line not even Shego would cross. Killing those two gave him an excitement that rivaled the one time he scored with a prostitute. Too bad he was not shooting Kim Possible and the buffoon.

Satisfied with his handy work, he kicked the Global Justice agent down stairway to join her fallen partner.

Kim ended up next to Ron. His eyes were open. Kim could see that Ron was trying to speak, trying to give her some comfort, but he was gurgling on bright pink blood. She was too weak to do anything. She knew that they were drowning in their own blood and that she failed to get the man who hurt them both.

Kim failed for the first time in her life and had to pay the price. Kim could only watch as her fiancé was drowning in his blood before the darkness took her as well.


	8. Bad News

**Moving Onwards**

**Bad News**

**By Pat Squared**

* * *

Dr. Anne Possible stared at the unconscious form of her daughter. 

Kim was hooked up to half a dozen machines with multiple bags hooked up to her IV line. Despite begin one of the best brain surgeons in the world, there was nothing thatDr. Possiblecould do for her daughter than being there.

Dr. Possible called in all the markers that she had.

Some of the world's best doctors were handling the victims of the massacre. A few of the wounded have been saved and reunited with family, but most were dead before paramedics made it to the airport. Worse, her daughter and her future son in law were in a coma and both had to be resuscitated several times during the first couple days.

Dr. Anne Possible, PhD, MD, AANS, CNS spent the majority of her practice working emergency rooms, but she was not use to seeing her baby being cut up and her face looking like some steroid enhanced baseball player used Kim for batting practice.

Death was not a stranger to Dr. Possible. She had to perform operations on patients dying from brain cancer or trauma as the result of an accident. Some folks did not make it through the surgery and did die despite her best efforts. Being the professional, she knew that the x-ray and the charts were not saying anything good. The prognosis was grim. The longer the coma lasted, the less likely that her child would ever wake.

Three weeks ago, Kim and Ron announced that they were going to tie the knot. Dr. Possible and Ron's mom were crying in joy. Now they were both crying because of what happened the day after. Two people in love shouldn't have to be fighting for their lives hooked unto machines.

DAMN TRAITORS!

Two of the marshals turned out to be on the payroll of whoever saved Drakken. They were the only ones up in the front of the van while everyone else was in the back without a window to see out. The pair simply drove to a deserted airport where the fake airport police attacked the convoy moving the blue skin freak. How could ...

Yes James Possible and Drew Lipsky vied over who was going to be her boyfriend back in high school. However, Drew was never so violent. Dr. Possible got a peek of the police report.

Drew Lipsky deliberately placed the pistol in Ron's armpit and under Kim's vest and squeeze off an extra couple rounds to make sure that the pair was down. He deliberately shot them in the face to make sure.

Dr. Possible rememberedthe history of medicine course that she took back in medical school andhandling some ofthe antique tools the ancient surgeons used on their patient/victims. She wanted to introduce Drew Lipsky to the arts of healing the medieval way.

She wanted to yank his intestines and slowly amputate various things from his body.

A squeeze woke Dr. Anne Possible out of her rage. Dr. Possible was holding Kim's hand. A second squeeze told Anne Possible that it was not wishful thinking. She looked at her daughter. Kim was waking up.

Kim was violently thrashing as if in a fit.

Holding down her child, Dr. Possible frantically hit the call nurse button. Doctor Steve Alder, Dr. Anne Possible old mentor, came inside and injected a liquid into Kim's IV line.

The thrashing died out as teh seditive took effect.

The nurse removed the respirator. Kim was now breathing on her own power. Dr. Adler looked at the daughter of his old student. Anne Possible was running on shear adrenaline.

"Anne. Go home and get some sleep. She will be sedated for twelve hours. She will need you when she awakes."

Dr. Alder looked troubled. From six years working under her former mentor, Anne Possible knew that something was horribly wrong.

"What happened?"

"I some calls to make. One of my patients just passed away. Shame, his parents told me that he just got engaged before all this... insanity happened. He was improving, then he just flat-lined according to Johnny Wu. Johnny and I tried everything, but we couldn't... After thirty seven years, you would think I would get use to..."

"Ron Stoppable died?"

"How did you know the name?"

Dr. Alder knew that Kim had just got engage to a deputy marshal before the attack, but didn't make the connection until he had to open his big mouth.

"He was Kim's fiancé. Shit, Steve, I should come with you. The family knows me and they will just call me anyways."

Steve Alder's large brown eyes examined his former star pupil through his bifocals. He merely nodded.

Dr. Possible wondered how Kim was going to act when she broke the news. She wonder how she would personally handle the news when the shock wore off. Ron was like one of her sons.

When the _incident_ happened, Dr. Anne Possible went to Kim's and Ron's place to get Rufus. There were more than enough clues left around the house confirm her suspicions that the kids had long since crossed the line into lovers. It was the little things that alerted Dr. Possible to the fact.

Kim's _room_ was too dusty. Ron's room was far too neat for the boy to be sleeping in his own bed. There was an opened box of condoms in the drawer. There was a pharmacy receipt for birth control pills. To seal her suspicions, Kim's diary not only confirmed what happen, but parts of it read like the Karma Sutra crossed enough romance to write a couple dozen romance novels.

Kimmie Cub was ... fucking Ronald Stoppable like a rabbit.

Anne intellectually knew that Kim was not the little girl that she had brought home from the hospital twenty two years ago. Kim was bound to find her own man and someday bring her own child into the world. Anne wanted to yell at her daughter, but knew the Biblical passage about the one without sin casting the first stone.

At least Kim didn't get knock up in an Andy Gump at a Guns 'n' Roses concert like age seventeen like Anne O'Conner did twenty three years ago.Kim at least listened to her mom long enough to learn about birth control. Anne remembered looking into the mirror, truly feeling her age for the first time.

Dr. Anne Possible looked upon her daughter. Kim needed her mother's support. Ron was dead and Kim would be alone for the first time in her life.

Sixteen hours later, Dr. Anne Possible watched her daughter suffer a total emotional meltdown when she broke the bad news to her daughter. Kim had to be sedated again.

Dr. Anne Possible knew that her Kimmie would never be the same again.


	9. Susan's Life

**MOVING ON**

**Susan's Life**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

Thoughts fell sluggishly upon the awareness of Susan Lee.

Susan Lee suffered for crimes that she could not remember.

She remember sitting in a room with a man point to pictures of animals that she would never see and repeating the names of them. She remebered reading about the circus. She so wanted to go, but since Shego was bad, Susan could never go to the circus and see the elephant and clown and eat cotton candy. She was a girl would was not allow to play nor even have a little doll of her own. All that was for good little girls. Not for bad, big girls like her.

She hated Shego for being bad and trapping her in this life.

Good little girls had parents. Good little girls had fine adventures. Goood little girls had dolls and slumber parties and all the other gooood things that she would never had. Goooood little girls could go out and play.

She had none of those things. All she had were the walls, guards who would hit her just because, and something inside of her that would eat her gutt and grind them up and make her hurt all over if she did not get the medicine.

Her capturers proved that addicting the green skin freak to a host of drugs and chipping the brain would keep her docile.

Ironically, the same folks who tried to fight the drug war were the same folk hooking her unto them.

By being a good girl, Susan would get a hit of something that made her forget her imprisonment and shame for a moment. Then she would have to endure the shame until they gave her the next dose.

A prison without bars, her addiction was the leash that held her.

Susan knew that she was so addicted that she didn't eat for days and that she would often have to go to the prison infirmary so that the staff could give her an IV to keep her worthless carcass alive.

The bright, high-visibility yellow jumpsuit hung on her bones.

Susan knew that the old Shego would freak out if Shego ever saw Susan. The tall girl now weighed less then many of the professional runway anoxic models who she seen on the TV screen.

The television in the security guard station was tuned to the news, primarily for the sport scores.

As one of the trustees, Shego had access to most of staff areas off limits to most of the other "guests."

She was responsible for ensuring that the guard's dormitories were clean. If they were spotless, the guards would let her sometimes score an extra hit. Staff had that kind of discretion.

The once proud villainess started gathering up the used Styrofoam cups and tossed them into the trashcan.

The institute was not the typical government managed women's prison.

It was one of those contract places with little or no government oversight. This one had absolute power over the lives of the prisoners.

Two eternities in the sensory deprivation tank suffering repeated withdrawals was all it took to break her will to resist. She had to grovel before the staff, begging to be allowed to return to the real world. She begged to have her free will removed so that she would never be bad.

Drakken was arrested.

She knew that she was locked in a black hole with no one helping her. Her old boss Drakken was locked away and the US Marshal Service would probably throw away key. They would mind wipe him and chip him like they did her.

Sometimes when they did not give her shots on times, she would wonder how the old Shego would have acted.

It was a shame that they took away Shego and left Susan, her new self-defeating persona.

They chipped her and she could never again fail to follow any single rule. Some of the guards hated it since she could not cooperate in the _special activities_ that some of the guests participated in, but she was considered to dangerous to be let out un-chipped.

However the chip and drugs were the only control they had over her. It was her fault for being a bad girl.

As long as she kept on working she was allowed to see what was playing on the television. She saw a picture of Shego's former boss. In a way, she rooted for the man in blue to be free.

However, Susan had to stop such bad thoughts or they won't let her forget her pain.

It was too late for Susan.

She knew that she was once Shego, the world's number one thief, but could not remember more than what the staff told her.

Mindwipes were total.

Like a newborn baby, Susan had to learn to do everything again. Walking, talking, how to eat without being smacked for bad manners, even how to make her letters. The worst part is when they taught her who to read.

She hated it. Before she learn, she thought that other girls were locked in the walls, had to clean cells and dormitorys, had to do landscaping and dishes. Once she read, she learned that she was alone. She learned that there was a world out there that she could never see. The were only two books that she ever liked. One was Cinderella and the other was the picture book that some guy in black with a funny neckpiece gave to her. The Sermon on the Mount for Children showed God promising that those who weep would be blessed for happiness was their due. The man said that God alway keep His words and that if she believe that He would deliver her.

If she believed and was good, God would make her happy. She hang unto that promise for that was the only thing thing that the staff could not take away from her. She cried when they took away her two books.

The walls were her home now. She reluctantly had to perform perimeter landscaping on the weekends and the thought of leaving the safety of her cell was truly frightening.

Today, Susan was going to have some visitors.

Once a month, some doctor would _shrink her head_ and see if she and any bad thoughts. She knew that the chip prevented her from lying and that she would have to confess all her bad thoughts.

Worse, they would withhold her medication and let her suffer for not being a good girl having bad thoughts.

Before every examination day, Susan wanted to die, to climb up to the roof, and jump off the building, but that was against the rules. She had to obey.

Why couldn't Susan be good?

BECAUSE SUSAN WAS BAD!

She was too big to spank so they would hold back her reward and watch her sickness take her.

_Bad, bad, bad._

Susan was so bad that even a complete mind wipe did not erase the bad thoughts. The thoughts swirled in her crippled mind. Nothing hurt worse than having the voices yell at her. Not even the withdrawals hurt so badly.

Trembling, Susan quickly finished cleaning the guard's quarters. She didn't know how to do anything else to help her. The bad thoughts came and she had to confess. Crying only brought scorn and more punishment, but Susan couldn't help crying.

Susan put away the cleaning supplies, each in its proper area so the staff could inventory them and make sure that Susan couldn't use them to do bad things.

Susan wondered what Shego knew that make the staff fear Shego so much. Then Susan cried as she realized that she just had another bad thought. She wanted to know the bad things that she was not suppose to know. That was unacceptable.

The agony of the punishment haunted Susan. She wanted to hurt herself, to humiliate herself. She wanted to show much bad she had been so they wouldn't punish her for her bad thoughts.

Susan wanted punish herself so much that the others would truly know how bad Susan felt that she had bad thoughts.

However, the rules prohibited Susan from physically hurting herself.

No matter how much she tried, Susan was a failure.

She failed at everything in life and end up here where she failed every single moment to be the good girl that everyone wanted her to be.

One day she will be good.

She will please everyone and only have the thoughts that she was allowed to have.

Susan wouldn't give up.

If she could only be good, maybe someone will love her.

Maybe someone will hold her when the nightmares came.

Maybe someone would make the loneliness go away.

There will never be someone to save her. Not even Jesus could save her from this loneliness.

Susan looked at the clock watching the hands dance there way to confession time. The tears would come and she would have to fight them off.

The doctor examined his patient in the monitors.

Susan Lee was coming around save for the stray bad thought. It was just as he planned.

Let the bad thoughts have an outlet and then let the prisoner punish herself mentally.

Nothing was more effective than self-inflicted punishment.

The bad thoughts were to trickle out just to keep the inmate locked in a cycle of self-hatred and guilt. A cycle that one such as he could use more effectively than any instrument of physical torture.

Global Justice spent hundreds of millions of dollars working on the ultimate prisoner control system.

Caging criminals only reinforced the pack criminal mentality.

Letting them back into society was not really any option.

If they could chip and drug the inmates, they would be in the walls and no longer a danger to the staff or each other.

Besides, he enjoyed seeing the subjects suffer. In another life, he would have been an Inquisitor or a serial killer.

To the guests of this institute - He was God.

This god had no conscience, and enjoyed it.

Dr. Cyrus Bortel knew that the neural compliance chip and moodulator were going to be an instant hit.


	10. Saying Goodbye to the Best Years

**MOVING ON**

**Saying Goodbye to Best Years**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

It was time for Kim to say goodbye to her fiancé, best friend, and lover. Kim's mom and the doctors didn't want Kim to go, but Kim insisted. She had to go.

Since she awoke from the coma, Kim Possible replayed every moment of the fiasco at the airport.

Sure she was hurt, but she had Drakken in her sights. She let Drakken kill her fiancé and Kim wouldn't even shoot him when he pointed Ron's pistol at her face.

Kim knew that she couldn't have missed if only she pulled the trigger.

Drakken was only five feet away and the blade of the front pistol face was lined up to give Drakken a 0.4 inch diameter bindi, or Indian beauty mark, the instant she squeezed the trigger.

Kim Possible, once voted most likely to succeed, failed to do the simplest thing one could be asked to do, and it cost her everything that she valued.

The truth did not set her free, but would trap her in a lifetime of guilt.

Kim would go to the funeral. She had to say goodbye. But how...

A thousand times she tried to say sorry, but Ron was not around to listen to her pleas for forgiveness. He would not be able to forgive her as he forgave all the other times that she let him down.

Worse no one but Drakken and Kim really knew what truly happened on that mobile stairway.

The authorities called her a hero for trying to stop Drakken despite her life threatening wounds.

Kim didn't care anymore what they thought of her. She was a fraud! _Anything is possible for a Possible_ - That was the lie that killed Ron. No matter how many lives she saved ... No matter how many times she stopped the bad guys ...

She was not a hero.

A hero does not have a website trolling for a chance at some publicity.

Ron was the real hero.

To everyone he was just the sidekick or buffoon. He didn't care that she got all the applause. He faced down he darkest fears and stood up stoically for what is just and good on this mud pie called earth.

Kim Possible was worthless. She played the hero. When it stopped being a game, she felt fear. It paralyzed her. She was a coward.

She was nothing but a product consuming organism.

Today Kim would see Ron off to heaven.

Ron paid the ferryman's fare and earned his place in Valhalla. He shot and killed the men who shot her.

Despite his fear, Ron Stoppable kept on fighting, like he always did. Even when he was down, he did not lie there, crying, waiting for death to claim him. He kept up the fight until he could fight no more.

Ron died more of a warrior than she ever would be.

He stood up and took a round so that he could stop the man from hurting her. He killed two men so that she would be alive. Ron died for her and she couldn't perform the simple task of squeezing an eight pound trigger and save her lover from her old enemy.

The funeral went off as planned.

Even the weather cooperated. The clouds were appropriately dark and gloomy. It seemed as if Mother Earth herself was poised to wept at the lost of real heroes.

Covered by the all major cable news stations, the funeral was the classic military style funeral to mark the passage of a hero from this life unto the next.

Confined to a wheel chair and dependant upon bottled oxygen going into her one functioning lung, Kim Possible fought against the urge to break down and brawl in public.

Drakken would be watching, laughing at her pitiful existence and she did not want his to get anymore joy out of what he did to her fiancé.

The squad from the US Marshal Servicefired off a twenty one gun salute.

Three Global Justice Agents and three deputy US marshals, including Ron's uncle Saul and Deputy Marshal Cortez, served as pall bearers silently carrying the casket.

The President of the United States read a proclamation and pinned the Forsyth award on the colors covering Ron's casket.

The Attorney General and US Marshal promised that heaven and earth will be moved to apprehend the killers of Ronald Dean Stoppable and his fellow marshals.

Dr. Betty Director, the head of Global Justice publicly proclaimed that Ronald Dean Stoppable was the bravest man she ever had the honor to know.

Rabbi Katz spoke about the love so great that one had to sacrifice himself for the good of all and the cause of justice.

Father Rodriguez talked about No greater love that one to lie down's ones life for a brother.

All flags were to hang at half mast for the next month in memory of the brave men and women who died in the ambush. A man in dress blues gave the folded American flag to Ron's mother. She had to watch as Ron's parents said goodbye to their only son.

Kim wanted to lose it when they lowered his coffin into the hole. It should have been her. Not him. Ron deserved better than to be cut down in the prime of his life.

The bugler played taps.

Everyone threw in flowers and law enforcement threw in their mourning bands. With practiced efficiency, the cemetery crew dropped the concrete slab and sealed the burial vault. It was too much as the worker started shoveling earth into Ron's grave. Kim couldn't hold back the pain.

Twenty two years of life, over eighteen years of friendship, and five years of being lovers and all that would mark his passing was a simply craved headstone.

Ronald Dean Stoppable, US Marshal Service, 1988 to 2010, No Greater Love...

It was ironic that a line from the New Testament would be chiseled upon the gravestone of a Jewish boy.

Kim wanted to be hated, but everyone felt sorry of for the little girl in the wheelchair.

Things went worse at the post funeral reception.

Ron's parents didn't hate her

They said that in their minds that Kim would always be a daughter to them even though Ron pasted away before the wedding. It hurt her worse than if they methodically took a sledge hammer to every bone in her body.

Kim wanted to be hated, to be slapped, to accept the blame that she deserved. She couldn't believe that they would not only forgive her, but accept her into their grief.

That night Kim possible knew that she would never be able to see Ron in this life or the next. She was undeserving of Ron's love and guilty that he sacrificed himself for someone who wouldn't go all the way for the man she loved.

Kimberly Anne Possible did the only thing that she knew that would end her pain on this earth.

She filled the tub up with warm water and managed to break apartoneof her brother'sdisposable razors for the blade. She asked her mom to get some refills on the pain medication so that she would be alone.

It took several tries and two bottles of hard liquor before Kim slashed her veins.

Kim Possible remembered what the nuns told her about suicide and going to hell in her ancient days at Sunday School. She hope that Ron would understand that she would never be worthy of going into heaven and seeing him again.

Kim slipped into the darkness wondering how hot the flames of hell were going to burn.


	11. Susan's Cries

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Susan's Cries**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

**WARNING: CHILD ABUSE AND FOUL LANGUAGE** - THIS CHAPTER CONTAIN EXPLICT REFERENCES TO AN ACT THAT IS BEYOND EVIL. SHOULD YOU BE CAUGHT ATTEMPTING TO PERFORM ANY OF THESE ACT YOU WILL HAVE AN INTERESTING TIME INSIDE A PRISON CELL TRYING NOT BE TO KILLED BY THE _HONEST_ CONVICTS AROUND YOU.

* * *

It was just as Susan Lee had feared. She had confessed her bad thoughts and the staff withheld her medication.

It happened countless times before.

No matter how hard or earnestly Susan tried, the bad thoughts came and Susan would suffer the consequences.

The young lady as huddled up in the corner of her cell curled up in a fetal position as the now familiar fits racked her body.

She was sweating and shivering at the same time. She was crying trying to hide her cries of pain. The other prisoners would walk by her cell and they would laugh at her failure.

Susan would pray to God for help, but it was an exercise in futility. She knew that God hated bad girls such as her and would only add more punishment to her pain.

A man-eating shark was more worthy in God's eyes than the girl with the bad thoughts for the shark was part of God's plan.

God would rather have a hundred million gazillion skunks letting their spray out up heaven than let Susan have a moment's respite from the fits.

Susan's nails scratched her body and face. She would be punished for hurting herself later, but she could not control her hands during the fits. Maybe God would forgive her for that.

The thought gave Susan a brief moment of comfort until the next fit struck her.

Susan wanted it to be over, but then she would have bad thoughts and find herself in this place again.

Maybe she should just let the fits continue until she died. She would never have bad thoughts again if she died.

A spasm gripped her body and Susan accidentally rammed her head into the wall. The spasms threw her around her cell and the guard came running in.

Efficiently, they strip the urine soak garments and strapped the raving prisoner to the bed.

Now she couldn't knock herself unconscious.

After an eternity, someone walked inside and jabbed Susan with a needle.

A euphoric peace descended upon the retained prisoner.

The fact that she was laying in her own feces and urine was not of any concern. She always ended up in her waste when the withdrawal seizures hit.

In a chemically induced cloud, Susan wondered how her life would be different if she was a good girl.

Susan imagined life as a concert pianist. She knew that Shego once played the piano and was considered a young musical prodigy before she went bad. Once she saw a keyboard and Susan played Chopin's Etude in C minor, Opus 10 from somewhere in Susan's locked away memories.

Touching the old beat-up piano in the chapel cost Susan another session of agonizing pain, but Susan had learned that she was once able to do something that was considered good very well.

In her mind, Susan flexed her fingers over a Steinway piano and play Mozart's Piano Concerto in A Minor with an imaginary string quartet. If only she could drift off into the world of her imaginary orchestra and never wake up. She dreamt just being about to leave the pain, when the withdrawals hit.

She felt the strips loosen, but Susan felt too much bliss to care anymore. Sometimes the staff would have to carry Susan outside, strip her naked, and wash her off with a garden hose when she was still on a cloud. Shego felt herself being strapped on a gurney. Someone covered her with a cloth and she was rolled into an ambulance.

Susan knew something was wrong, but could not figure out what was truly happening to her through the chemical fog.

A familiar voice cut through the fog. Susan couldn't place the voice, but know that she was no longer on the ground.

"They told me that you have changed, that you became weak and worthless. They told me to not expect that you will break me out of jail."

Susan was too remote to understand the words coming out of the man's mouth.

"Bitch, I had to raise the reward money to thirty million dollars to get out."

The voice wanted her to do bad things, to think bad things.

Susan couldn't go back.

She couldn't stand another punishment session.

She couldn't...

"Bitch, they told me that you became some sort of goody two shoes. You aren't even allowed to remember how bad you were. Look at me when I speak to you."

Drakken firmly grabbed his former partner's jaw and force her to look at him.

The orchestra residing in Susan's mind stopped playing as she looked up at the blue man with the scar and ponytail.

She recognized the man from memories of old photos as Shego's old boss.

"I have spent four years in prison because of your failure. I spent it thinking of the perfect plan.

He laughed with glee.

"I beat them all without your help."

He slapped her hard.

"I killed the buffoon without your help."

He punched her in the gut.

She couldn't listen to the bad things he said. She twitched and he slapped her again.

"I sent Kim Possible into a coma without your help. I broke her fucking spirit and she slashed her wrist because of what I did to her."

He spat in her face.

"You fucked up too many times and cost me world domination bitch. I would have let you lie in your own piss and shit.

"However, your bad luck demanded I need a cunt such as yours for my new plan to work out."

Something told Susan that the blue man was beyond bad.

He was someplace that not even the bad Shego belonged.

Susan prayed that he would not drag her there.

She wanted to be good.

_Be good_. Susan chanted the mantra in her mind.

Please let this just be on the of the fever dreams.

_Please God_.

_There was a little girl who wanted to be good._

_Please make her good._

_I don't want to think bad thoughts._

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

There was a good girl whose name was Susan Lee. Her friends call her Good Girl Susan.

GOODGIRLSUANGOODGIRLSUSANDON'TLETTHINKBADGOOD

GOODMAKEMEGOODPLEASEGODMAKEMEGOODSOICANDIE

ANDGOTOHEAVENWITHMOMMYANDDADDYANDGRANNYPLEASE.

The child's mind was racing tasting madness for the first time.

Susan wanted to be good. If she was good, someone would love her.

If she was good, maybe God would love her.

Susan craved something that she once had but couldn't remember.

The blue man was violently shaking the girl screaming into her mind.

She fought, but the blue man pushed into her consciousness, battering her, screaming at Susan until she whimpered in fear.

"Cunt, look into my eyes. They told me that you have the mind of afour year old. You are what, twenty six or seven right now? Well say goodbye to your tits and ass, cunt. All I need is your cunt.

"Probably your lesbo cunt has been screwed wider than a battleship by some dildo wielding dyke, but it will have to do. My newest toy likes young cunt and you are it."

Susan wanted to cry. Cunt, lesbo, and bitch were bad words. Bad words lead to bad thoughts and she knew all too well what having a bad thought would mean on next confession day.

The blue man put on a pair of dark glasses and walked out of her view.

Twenty seconds later, Susan screamed in pain as drugs flowed into her body setting her veins, nerves, and sinews on fire.

Susan passed out from the pain, begging for someone to kill her.

The world seemed different as if everything was bigger.

Susan was much more skinner than she ever remembered being.

Susan was naked.

Looking at her reflection in the stainless steel reflector, the pale girl could not believe what the blue man did.

Her breasts were now gone and her had no hair down there.

The blue man looked at her in a very funny way.

"If my plans did not require otherwise, I would gladly introduce you to my last cellmate. He taught me how to make men scream. The taught me how to take someone and destroy their mind. He taught me too well. I killed him."

He reached his hand down the front of his pant and rubbed himself in the _naughty place_.

"I wonder how you would fare one of his sessions. The pain made me stronger. It made me into a god, unbreakable. I will break you. I will punish you for failing me."

The blue man had rotten teeth and bad breath.

He walked up, removed his hand from his pants, and groped the child with his sticky fingers.

The blue man held the child as he tasted her and forced his tongue into various parts of her body.

"Can't damage the goods, but a little taste test could not hurt. I like _cherry_ flavoring"

Susan tried to resist, but the blue man was far too strong.

Susan knew that she was a virgin. She remembered the guards upset that she was virgin meat and the doctors told them that she shouldn't be touched.

The doc told her that she was not all bad if she would remain pure.

Susan didn't want the blue man to take that away from her.

"Please don't!"

Susan was crying, begging. She would do anything to get away from the awful blue man. Even the seizures were preferable to this.

The blue man stopped and gave Susan a horrifying smile.

Suddenly, the man back handed the girl repeatedly.

"Soon you will remember this as one of your good days."

The blue man threw the child into a dark room. The metal door was slammed shut and the latches were secured.

Susan wondered what would happen next. It couldn't be as bad as what the blue man did to her.

What happened next in that dark room would forever break whatever residual spirit remained in Susan Lee.

An eternity later the child awoke in pain. Her body was broken all over. Her legs and arms were at odd angles to her body. Susan knew her limbs were broken and that she was bleeding inside.

Her body was covered in filth and her insides burned in extreme pain.

Susan was whimpering even before her mind could connect her pain to what happened in the darkness.

Her body was one big hurt. She no longer cared about bad thoughts.

No one could hurt her as the blue man has hurt her.

She had only one thing to say to the creature in the darkness:

"Fuck you!"

It was the last moment of rebellion that Susan would ever enjoy.

The creature in the darkness responded and hurt her again and again until her body was beyond pain.

Susan knew that she was now truly among the walking dead.

Even should someone rescue her, right now, Susan could never think good thoughts again.

The blue man had destroyed whatever goodness was inside of her.

Over and over again, the child had to suffer.

Because Shego had rapid healing abilities, Susan had to suffer repeated violations that would have killed any other person.

Many times she was brought to deaths door to only be returned to hell.

Soon the only voice in the Susan's mind was her cries to an uncaring God to let her die.


	12. Cursed

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Cursed**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

Kim Possible awoke strapped naked to a gurney with bandages around her wrist and an IV line. She had failed to kill herself and now they would never leave her alone.

Kim wanted closure and closure was denied. She knew that the shrinks were lining up and that she would be sent to a loony bin.

It was her fault. Kimberly Anne Possible could not do anything right.

Yet Kim's mother blamed herself for not being there when Kim needed her. The rest of Kim's family and her closest friends would just stare at Kim afraid to say something that would cause Kim to go off the deep end again.

Days and nights became one drug induced blur. Kim would wake up sick and vomit from stress and the drugs.

The once beautiful young lady became worn, scarred up caricature of a suffering widow. Kim's grief was affecting her so bad that she would vomit whenever she smelled food.

Slowly as time progressed Kim was allowed to reclaim some measure of her dignity. She was allowed to wear a set of hospital scrubs and sleep on a mattress with a blanket.

There was no longer an obvious watcher and Kim was allowed to take short walks as long as she was accompanied by her mother or one of the staff.

It was on one of these walks that everyone, including Kim, found out that she was pregnant.

Suddenly, Kim had fainted and was taken to the emergency room. The blood work revealed that her blood sugar was way too low and that she was two months pregnant.

Kim's carefully laid out plans for a second suicide attempt was blown away by the news. Kim couldn't save Ron. Now, she had to raise his child.

The baby was Ron's.

She was just the unworthy womb carrying Ron's seed. The only shame was that she had to lend Ron's child her pathetic DNA. She owed Ron that much for saving her life.

Months passed as Kim's belly swelled to accommodate the new life growing with her.

Kim knew that she was unfit to raise the child but she had to for Ron. She wondered how he would have reacted to the news. Probably give her one of his goofy smiles and say something dumb like, "BOOYAH, who's the man?"

The thought gave her a smile until the negative voice in the back of her head told Kim that carrying Ron's child was too great of an honor. God's only use for her was to carry Ron's child and raise it. Kim never wanted to cry so bad.

The shrinks in their collective professional wisdom diagnosed Kim with an extreme case of survivor's guilt. She would never go out into the field again.

It was for the best, Kim knew. Ron's child needed a parent. Someone to guide his child to adulthood.

When she finally broke down and confessed her failure, everyone including Ron's parents told her that it was not her fault that she could not pull the trigger.

The head shrinks and Ron's uncle Saul told her that many law enforcement officers couldn't pull the trigger when they had to. Ron was trained to decisively engage threats, she wasn't.

Kim knew that it was all a lie.

They were only being nice to her because of the child growing within her womb. Only the fact that she was now responsible for bringing Ron's only child into the world, kept her from permanently ending her guilt.

Like all good mothers to be, Kim endured the shots, ate the food, but nothing would ever lift the guilt that haunted her.

God only had her mom return in time to save her because of Ron's child. God couldn't love a worthless slut such as Kim Possible who let the one would kill the one good thing in her life walk away.

It was late night, June 14th when the contractions came and Kim's water broke. Twenty two hours later, Kim gave birth to Ronald Stoppable Possible. Ronnie had her red hair, but everything else was Ron down to the deep brown soft eyes and freckles that haunted Kim's memories. Kim placed Ronnie on her breast, letting Ron's child suckle drawing the yellowish, antibody rich colostrum that all new mothers gave their babies from her breasts.


	13. Ain't Walking the Line, No More

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Ain't Walking the Line No More**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

Lord Montgomery Fiske, aka Monkey Fist, was literally bouncing off the walls of his family's ancestral castle in northern England.

For decades,Fiske spent every waking moment trying to seize the magical mystical power of the money god. He was on the verge of becoming ruler of all the primates when Kim Possible and that buffoon, Ron Stoppable stole the monkey powers that Monkey Fist rightfully deserved.

Worse, he was defeated by the boy.

Kim Possible was just a hologram along with the hologram of her cousin, Ned, only guided the boy.

A boy took the White Lotus blade.

A boy mastered Monkey style kung fu without putting in the decades of training that Monkey Fist endured. The boy grew up andwas killed by Drakken and took the mystical monkey power to the grave.

Had Monkey Fist misread the ancient texts?

Ron Stoppable was dead before he could marry and pass down the powers to his descendants.

The power was supposed to return to the idols. It said so in the scrolls.

Yet after a year of mediation, Lord Fiske did not receive the powers.

A lifetime wasted and all he had were four worthless monkey idols.

The old villain laughed a laughed that ould scare even the villainous hearted villain.

Madness seemed a lot better than living in disappointment.

In madness, Monkey Fist's life was worth living.

The power had to return to the idols soon. He would simply have to be patient.

From the ledge, Jim and Tim Possible, now 17, looked down at the manically laughing villain doing some kind of dance.

Looking down the sights of the old Enfield rifle, Tim focused on placing the front sight on Monkey Fist's silhouette.

Carefully he turned he body into a bridge of bone as his grandfather once show his brother and him how to shoot a deer.

Breath, relax, aim, sights, squeeze – Tim ran the mantra as Jim gave Tim the wind speed and direction.

The rear sights were carefully adjusted two clicks to the right.

The pair watched as the dart struck the madman.

The dance continued until Monkey Fist noticed a second dart sticking out of his upper leg. The drug made his moments more slurred.

Jim and Tim watched as the mad man fell down.

Looking at one another, the pair only wished that they were shooting live ammunition at Drakken.

Hopefully, Monkey Fist would know where Drakken was hiding.

Drakken killed Ron, drove their sister to the brink of death, and ensured that their sister would have to live life as a single mother.

Tim, normally the quiet one,looked at hisolder (by eight minutes) brother.

Today, the pair would cross the line and turn their backs on Global Justice's non-lethal ethics code.

Tim pulled out a pair of latex gloves and a folding knife.

"Jim, don't stop me. I am going to find the blue freak who killed Ron and..."

Contrary to popular belief, the Tweebs did not always march in lockstep. However, there was not doubt about the choice that they were going to make today.

Jim crowed, "Hicka-bika-boo."

"Hoosha." Tim finished the chant.

It tooknine days for Montgomery Fiske to die. Tim made it a point to learn how his mother prevented her patients from bleeding to death and ensuring that there enough blood plasma to keep the festivities going.

Two weeks later, London police found the mutilated corpse of one Montgomery Fiske floating in the Thames by the Millennium Wheel. The killers had used concentrated lye to destroy any DNA left on the scene.

The Tweebs were now hunting down another lead. Motor Ed was Drakken's cousin and they spent three days working him over before crushing the mullet wearing SOB under the wheels of Ed's monster truck.


	14. Falling into the Music

**MOVING ON**

**Falling into the Music**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

WARNING: **GRAPHIC VIOLENCE TOWARD A CHILD!** SHOULD YOU BE TEMPTED, REMEMBER THAT IN PRISON EVERYONE LINES UP TO KILL PEDOPHILES.

* * *

The child could not longer remember anything but pain. 

Weeks would go by, when she did not remember her name or anything that happened before she became the monster's plaything.

She had no identity left.

It was a relief when the blue man finally let her out of the cell.

Although her growing belly made it hard to hold the exact position that the blue man desired, the child performed her role as she was taught by her trainer. Her discomfort did not matter. She only existed to be used for other's pleasure.

She was compliant letting the blue man and others use her body as they saw fit.

Nothing they could do hurt as must as the monster that the blue man kept locked away.

Today, the blue man lent her out to someone called the _Director_ for a movie that involved little or no dialogue.

It was not the first time that she was rented out. She had been rented out several times before to be used.

The director and his crew had their turn spilling their seed into her already occupied womb before tossing her into the shower.

The camera was rolling and the girl knew that she had to touch herself and play in the shower.

The girl followed the fat man's directions. She did not want another session with the blue man's trainer.

The crew dressed her in a moth gnawed wedding gown and pained her face with makeup. She had long since ran out of tears.

The camera rolled as someone in a leather tuxedo lead her down to alter.

Instead of Jesus on the cross were live females being whipped and penetrated by demons.

Someone dressed in the vestments of a priest motioned for the child to kneel.

There was dialogue between the priest and the man in the leather tux about receiving heavenly blessings before the priest hike up his robe and shot his semen over the child's face.

The man in the leather tux turned the girl to face the congregation, displaying her semen covered face.

One by one the audience approached and blessed the child with semen or piss before violating her bruised body. Soon she was being gang raped in all three orifices.

The child laid there as she was repeatedly humiliated.

Any thought of self-respect were long since erased.

The child no longer knew any other world but the world of pain and madness.

She remembered only the pain that the monster had inflicted and that this was her lot in life.

One in a while, she would have a bad thought – a though of the time before she entered the world of pain.

She remembered the piano when she saw the pipe organ in the abandoned church.

She remembered playing.

She remembered her imaginary orchestra.

She remembered losing herself in the imaginary music when the pain became too much for her to bear.

Soon the child was hearing the strings playing Haydn's Symphony No. 94.

She didn't know or care that it only played within the remnants of her mind.

She surrendered herself to the music knowing that nothing could hurt her here.

She was the conductor and her orchestra was the best in the universe.

The Queen and Queen of the moon and the all the Princesses of the Stars would attend her performances. All the universe would cry if they couldn't hear the beauty of her melody for one bar of her mind music transcended entire lifetimes of works by the greatest composers.

Part of her mind recognized being wrapped up in a blanket and walked outside.

The woodwinds and string played on as she was taken away from the darkened building.

They would keep her company until she passed out.

For the first time in memory, the child woke up in a real bed alone with no chained bounding her to the foot of her master's bed.

The room was empty save for two ladies.

They claimed that they were from something called _Child Protective Services_.

The child didn't know what this thing called child protective services was. She could not recall ever being a good girl and thus being worthy of not being used and beaten.

They were unlike the other ladies she encountered in the world. They were not slaves nor were they mistresses. They did not hurt her. They did not force her to pleasure them. However, they kept asking questions.

The only thing she knew was how to be used and how to make the music inside her head.

Knowing not what else to do, the child went back to playing Bach's _Fugue in G Minor_ on her imaginary pipe organ. No one could hurt her here.

The child played the multiple melodic streams trying to drown out the outside world. She lapsed into unconsciousness as her imaginary fingers ran over the ivory keyboard.


	15. Susan's Fate

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Susan's Fate**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

Social worker Angie McClintock and Agent Lori Zimmer, Colorado Bureau of Investigation Sex Crimes Unit, looked upon the latest victim they rescued from the child pornography ring. 

DNA and finger prints came up under the name Susan Lee, age 27, an escaped convict with a hundred page rap sheet, yet here before them was a seven or eight month pregnant ten or elevin year-old child.

According to the resident psychiatrist, the child was so mentally scarred that she might spend most of her life in catatonic state.

The scars and x-rays showed extensive damage and injuries upon injuries. The child was addicted to a cornucopia of drugs and in her state, withdrawal would kill both the little girl and the baby girl growing inside of her.

The fetus was too far along to safely abort and in a short term would be born addicted to the drugs pushed on the young girl.

Detective Zimmer knew first hand how bad sexual abuse can get.

Years ago, her own mother pimp Lori and her twin sister out at an age of seven to fuel a five hundred dollar a day drug habit.

Lori remembered having to come to terms with the rage and self-hatred before she could pull her own life together and find a reason to live.

Lori's sister never recovered and spent her life in a semi-catatonic state before committing suicide.

_God, please don't let this child die like Laura!_

The ones that were abusing her at the film shooting were caught, but the authorities did not have a clue of the one running the ring. This child was a _rental_.

Instead of taking the time to cultivating a victim, most child porn producers now used the _child rental system_ to get new faces for their "Art." It made things more vicious.

As no one cared what happened to rental cars, pedophiles did not cared what happened to the _rental girls_. Someone rented this child to some vicious people and Detective Zimmer was going to make sure that whoever rented out this child will do some serious hard time.

Dr. Roberta Sanchez, MD, Ph.D. Psychology, entered the room and examined the child.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out several items.

One by one she used time to try to attract the attention of the child, failing to get any response until she turned on the radio.

The child jerked as if she was struck by lightning. The child shot out of bed and grabbed it. The child slowly started dancing in movement with the music ignoring the presence of others in the room.

The child said her first words, "_Sonata in C sharp minor_, Domenico Scarlatti."

Everyone was stunned. The child knew the song three bars into the song.

There was someway for Dr. Sanchez to reach into her mind and maybe help the child return to the world.

With great difficulty the psychiatrist worked her way into the child's music. The information would come out in dribbles. It was not that Susan was trying to be evasive, but her frame of reference had little logical connection to the real world.

The child only knew that her name was Susan Lee, that she was sent to a bad place for stealing things and hurting others, that if she had bad thoughts that she would have to confess and that someone would hurt her by holding back her medication, that sometimes she would have fits, and that the blue man had a monster that hurt her even more.

The mind music was the child's only refuge from the pain.

Worse, her memories were no longer independent of the mind music.

The staff had to race out to buy classical music CD's to that Susan could tell them was happen to her during the playing of each mind song.

Global Justice sent a team of agents to study the reports, but kept the fact the Susan was Shego a secret from everyone.

Soon GJ officially identified the blue man as Drew Lipsky, the man who escaped during the ambush of a US Marshal Service prisoner transport convoy.

The child was definitely Susan Lee, a known professional thief and smuggler with a willingness to toy with pursuing law enforcement personnel. Susan was mindwiped due to her extensive crimes.

The file show that as a child, Susan was heavily into music as her grandmother was a retired concert pianist. Given a keyboard, Susan could play her mind music and would often lose herself into the melodic streams.

What baffled the authorities was the fast that Susan physically was only age ten or eleven and had a mental age of eight.

Susan Lee, before incarceration, definately was not a little, helpless child. She could ace a MENSA examination and knew her way around electronics despite having no formal education beyond the eighth grade. Now she could barely write her name and read a Dick and Jane book.

Detective Zimmer immediately bonded with the child. Everyday she would pray to God to help Susan recover and to punish the man who hurt the child. Over time, Lori assembled the pieces of informations that dribbled during her talks with the child into something barely coherrent.

The machine that the Blue Man used to physically alter her body. The mental and emotional torture inflicted by the prison even before she was kidnapped by Drakken.

Lori had to hold her and let her know that having bad thoughts were okay. Susan had every right to be upset and have bad thoughts about all the people who hurt her.

No one deserved having their free will taken away - it was the thing that made a human being...human.

Lori Zimmer called some favors she had with a prominent attorney to represent Susan pro bono. The treat of having Susan Lee paraded in front of the media and telling everyone ofthe emotional abuse she suffered convince Global Justice to settle or risk having its funding cut off and its assets siezed.

The chip could not be removed without severe damage, but could be reprogrammed to allow Susan more latitude.

Susan would be placed into the US Marshal's Witness Protection Program, given a new identity to prevent her former _benefactor_ from reclaiming her, set up with a trust fund to cover her medical and living expenses, and would not be split up from her own child after Susan gave birth.

The courts were finalizing all the paperwork when Susan Lee gave birth of a little girl whom she named Violetta, after the lead female character in her favorite Verdi opera. It was the first smile that Agent Zimmer saw on the face of the girl. Susan would never be alone or unloved again.

It would be the last action performed by Susan. Susan just let her daughter suckle on her breast and fell asleep. She would never wake up again. She had nothing left to give her child and just died.

Dr. Sanchez agreed to serve as the baby's foster mother. The baby was addicted to _red crystal_ or _Gatorade powder _and would have to face developmental difficulties as she grew older. Odds were even that the baby would not live to see her first birthday.

Babies born addicted to crack cocaine were far better off than those born addicted to the latest synthetic drug to plague the world.

Lori Zimmer looked on as the nursing staff gave the newborn a maintenance dose of the drug.

_Hell of a choice_.

Let the child face brain and nerve damage or hold back the drug and pray that it doesn't kill the newborn.

This shit killed a quarter of those who undergo rehab. A poison which kill most of those who try to quit - A cooker's dream and law enforcement nightmare.

The bastard that did this was a sadistic pedophile rapist with enough commercial savvy to recycle his victims in the pornographic community. Zimmer knew that whomever the monster was, it would strike repeatedly until someone puts a bullet into his brain and ends his career for good.

Every detective had a case that they would take to the grave, Lori Zimmer had hers.


	16. Sent Away

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Sent Away**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**Yori, a _kunouchi_ or female ninja of the Yamanouchi School, sat alone in the contemplation glade. Thirty-five generations of Yamanouchi Grand Masters and countless number of loyal ninjas had their ashes interned next to the coy pond surrounded by thirty five evergreen bonsai trees.

The glade was so sacred to the Yamanouchi clan, that all ninjas of the Yamanouchi clan would hold their funeral rites, burning a lock of their hair and nail clippings, before being sent out on their first mission. This was to ensure that if they died, a piece of their spirit would return briefly to the contemplation glade before returning to the source of all things to be judge and participate in the cycle of death and rebirth.

Yori felt the presence of the _kami_, the divine spirits of nature, and the ancestral spirits of the Yamanouchi clan within the peaceful glade since she was a child.

Yori's first memories consisted of eating pickled plums while watching the cherry blossoms fall from the trees with her mother. Her childhood was intertwined with the glade.

A child wants to grow to be able experience all things. Then the child grows up and realizes that death awaits and innocence is forever lost. That is the one of many deaths a child must undergo in the path to _satori_ or enlightenment.

Yet to lose one's childlike mind meant the loss of enlightenment.

How can one face the inevitable yet maintain the child mind within? This was the _koan_, or riddle, that haunted the young _kunouchi_ as she meditated.

Yori attempted to clear her mind of from the struggles with the world. The world was an illusion bounding all to an endless cycle of birth, suffering, and death. Familiar the ritual was, yet since the moment that Ron Stoppable entered her life, her spirit was restless and resisted the calmness that her spirit needed to grow.

"Om mani padme hum."

Hail to the jewel in the lotus.

"Please let my recitation of this mantra help to liberate the suffering and confusion that we all experience in this life."

Yori followed the ancient ritual taught to her by her mother. However the peace she sought remained elusive. Looking down at her tessen, iron combat fan, Yori reflected on her curse.

Yori's crush for her blond hair hero, Ronald Stoppable, grew from a childish crush to an intense inferno that cremated all she held dear.

When Ron brought his girlfriend, Kim, to the training hall, Yori wanted to die. Yori knew that Ron would never love her as Ron loved Kim. The only thing Yori ever shared with Ron was a deep friendship and the memory of their time together in Japan.

Ron was a friend, but he would never be the soul-mate and lover she desired. Yori remembered living through the depression and later finding comfort in the arms of Hirotaka, Master Sensei's only son and her companion from her earliest day. The other _kunoichi_ were jealous that Yori had the love of the heir apparent to the Grand Master. Beautiful girls were throwing themselves at Hirotaka, yet Hirotaka chose to love the one who loved another.

When Ronald Stoppable died, Yori grieved along with the Yamanouchi clan, yet unlike the others, Yori grieved for more than the lost of a friend. Hirotaka knew of her unreasonable emotional attachment to the foreigner, yet he still supported her. She knew then that Ron was truly in love with the red head foreigner and that Hirotaka was in love with her.

The gods were truly cruel.

When Yori let Hirotaka consummate their relationship, Yori committed the mistake that ruined everything. She grew to appreciate Hirotaka's support, yet she could not leave her attachment to Ron go. Yori knew that Hirotaka would die if she commanded him to. Yet that night, she moaned Ron's name when she lost herself in pleasure.

That night was the night everything died.

Hirotaka forgave her, but she could still feel the injury to his spirit whenever she shared his futon. He slept with her only those three weeks, before fate sent him off on a mission.

The gods ensured that Hirotaka would never return to the Yamanouchi training halls ever again.

Yori's childish longing for one she could never have destroyed everything good she ever deserved in this life.

With a single, ill-timed word, Yori knew that she destroyed Hirotaka and the future of the Yamanouchi clan.

Instead of finding peace in the glade, Yori not only found the guilt eating away at her like an acid eating away rusted metal.

Looking down at the iron bladed fan, Yori wondered why she could not love Hirotaka the way he loved her.

She was a failure.

She failed to carry the child of Hirotaka's spirit to term.

She failed to ensure the continuity of the Yamanouchi Clan.

It was only fitting that the premature birth of Hirotaka's child destroyed her harlot's womb. Yori only wished that her dead child would have taken her life as well. However, the healers did their job well.

Master Sensei Yamanouchi would be the last lineal descendant of Hiro Yamanouchi, the founder of the Yamanouchi ninja clan to sit upon the dais. Honor and tradition demanded that Yori daily face her shame until she could confess her crimes to the one she wronged.

It was to only be a short mission, but Hirotaka did not check in with his assigned contacts, nor did he leave any messages in the pre-established dead drops that were set up in case of an emergency. One month later, both Master Sensei and Yori felt the disappearance of Hirotaka's spirit.

With Hirotaka missing and officially declared dead, Yori would have to live out her life in shame.

Futility returning to her mediations in the glade, Yori felt the presence of another spirit. Without any conscious thought, Yori pulled out a kunai and tossed it at the intruder. The intruder walked up to the still girl and handed her back the throwing blade.

"Yori-ko, I see you have achieved satori," Master Sensei chuckled.

_Satori_ was the enlightenment that all beings sought, yet none would achieve.

Yori had to suppress her instant urge to destroy the sacred glade. Master Sensei gave her more honor than she would ever earn. She did not deserve any compliments. She deserved only a painful death.

"Master, I have destroyed everything by clinging unto a childish infatuation. I drove your only son, Hirotaka away. My weakness... my inability to carry your only grandchild killed the hopes of our clan. Why do you still treat me so well?"

"You are still family."

"But..."

Master Sensei cut her off with a glance.

"Takato-_sensei_, your great-grandfather, was my _sensei_, I was his _deshi_.

"I am your _sensei_, you are my _deshi_.

"You will one day be listed among the greatest of sensei on the history of our clan.

"When you deal with your _deshi_, remember this. A parent child relationship span's one generation, a husband wife relationship will span two generations, but the relationship between _sensei_ and _deshi_ spans three."

"Even after..."

Master Sensei silenced Yori not with a motion but solely with the strength of his spirit. His voice became distant.

"Yori-ko, I once greatly failed Takato-_sensei_. The price for my failure cost our clan even more dearly than you could ever imagine.

"I was sixteen. I had the honor to stand guard over the Lotus Blade, yet I thought that the honor was a burden. I talked another student, my brother, into taking my place so that I could sneak out and sleep with a certain girl in the village. I let the stirring of my lions do my thinking.

"My older brother and the heir to the dais, Hanzo, was killed when a ninja from a rival clan tried to steal the blade. I arrived just in time to see the blow. I fought with the thief and was defeated, not because the thief was highly skilled. I drank too much sake.

"He cut me open and made off with Lotus Blade. The healer prevented me from following Hanzo to glade. My grandfather and Takato-_sensei_ knew of my failing. My grandfather looked down at me and told Takato-_sensei _to handle matters as he saw fit and that he was going to mourn the death of his only grandson. Takato-sensei told me that he was going to the burning of Hanzo's body and that I was to rest in the healer'splace for a week.

"I could not stand the thought of living with Hanzo's death. I knew that in the old days, I would be expected to atone by releasing my spirit from my belly. Takato-_sensei _and my grandfather were from the old generation and I believed that they would want me to atone in the traditional fashion.

"I was in the glade preparing to commit _seppuku_. I repeatedly begged your grandfather, Kenji, to be my _kaishaku_, my second, until he relented. I was writing my death poem, a _waka_ describing how the spring sun melts the winter snow and its journey back to the sea. Takato-sensei stormed in and told me that if I was to release my soul, that he would follow me into the next life."

Master Sensei held back a sob.

"Takato-sensei was the wisest man I ever had the honor to encounter.

"My father died early in the war and my mother died in childbirth to my sister Tamae soon thereafter. My grandfather was serving in the military fighting against the British and their Gurkha mercenaries in India and Burma.

"Takato-sensei was the one who raised me and guided me to adulthood. He knew that I could not bear the thought of being the cause of his death. I shamed my sensei when I did not go to him when I spurned his love and refused his counsel. A venomous snake was more worthy of honor then I was on that day.

"All evening, I knelt by his door awaiting his scorn. When he woke in the morning, he ordered me into his house and performed the tea ceremony as if I was already the thirty-sixth Grand Master of the Yamanouchi School. He then told me a truth that I will now share with you.

"He too once failed and had to live with the shame.

"His master, Makito-sensei, gave an order and he disobeyed it. Takato-sensei was a headstrong young officer working for the Imperial Guard. When an Englishman nobleman named Fiske stole the jade monkey, a treasured artifact from the emperor and the people of our nation, Takato-sensei wanted to personally deliver justice to the thieves, instead of just recovering the stolen item.

"In his rush to mete justice upon the thieves, Takato-_sensei_ captured by a gang of Western smugglers and was tortured grievously. Makito-_sensei_ rescued his head-strong young deshi. In doing so, Makito-sensei suffered wounds that in due time would become infected and take his life. Before he died, Makito-_sensei_ confessed to Takato-_sensei_ about his own failure and the fact that his master, Daiki-_sensei_ forgave him.

"Forgiveness can hurt more than punishment for you must decide to accept forgiveness. Anyone with power can inflict punishment on the unwilling. However, to accept forgiveness requires that you punish yourself to earn it.

"As you see, even the greatest of ninjas in our clan have failed at one point or another. In many cases, the failure was perhaps the greatest failures that anyone could imagine. However, they persevered and became greater because of their failure. Any weak fool or pathetic samurai can take his life, but it takes more strength and honor to suffer in silence. Your inner demons will punish you more harshly than any punishment that can be imposed on you by an outsider.

"Failure is a lesson. Ignore it or surrender to despair and you have lost your honor. Learn from it, embrace its lesions and you will soon be stronger than the great tsunami waves.

"One day, you will find your true _deshi_. She will sometimes feel that she is not worthy. She will transgress and it will cost both her and you dearly. It will be your duty and honor as her sensei to forgive her as I have you as Takato-_sensei_ did me.

"You will teach her about the love that transcends all the negative emotions that eats our souls like a cancer and serve only bind us even more firmly upon the wheel of death and rebirth. Remember, the strength of the shinobi is to endure. We endure not for honor or duty, but for those we love."

Part of Yori's mind wanted to spurn the truths that Master Sensei share with her.

However, when she looked up she saw Master Sensei's eyes water with guilt. She wept as Master Sensei held her. Yori knew that she would forever live with her guilt, but she now had a lesson to past on to the next generation.

"Yori, I was visited by Takato-_sensei _in my dreams."

Yori waited for the hammer to drop. Visions from Takato-sensei meant some drastic change.

"You will be my successor as the true mistress of the Yamanouchi Clan."

Yori was shocked. Women had more power than they did a generation or two ago, but in a land where traditions run deep, women were still considered second class. Running the Yamanouchi clan... was an honor that should have gone to...

"But I am not even a..."

"Yori, Akira Abe will be running the school day-to-day and will be instructing most of the students. Priestess Tamae will still serve as abbotess in the ancient temple and ensure that the glade is maintained. Jiro Hiroshi will be the public face acting as your representative in our clan's dealings with the outside world.

"In the past, only a select few masters of the Yamanouchi clan would know who the true master was. For the four generations of grandmasters since the Menji restoration, the master-sensei and the leader of our clan were one. Now is the time to return to our more ancient traditions. Only Master Abe, Mistress Tamae, and Jiro Hiroshi and their successors will know that you are the mistress of our clan."

Yori wondered what was left for her to do. Since the demise of the _Kokuryu-kai_, the Black Dragon, one of the organizations that used assassinations to push Japan toward war in the 1920's and 1930's, the few remaining ninja clans of Japan simply maintained the training and sent their students to serve the government in the Japanese Self-Defense Forces or the Japanese National Police.

Master Sensei enlightened her to her new task.

"You will have the most difficult mission of all. You have to find and train the next mistress of our Clan. The prophecy tells of a girl-child lost to our clan. Conceived in hatred born out of a love cursed by the gods, she will have the blood of both angels and demons, the saints and the damned running in her veins.

"She will be someone who will bring you both happiness and summon the pain that grips your soul. She is known in the prophecies as _hisuiiro-oni_, the Jade Demon.

"In some prophecies, she is the harbinger of the Age of Demons. In other prophecies, she shall be the catalyst that sparks a new future. Not even the merciful Buddha knows which way the wheel will turn. You must be the guide and catalyst that will move her towards enlightenment.

"If you fail, the new age of darkness shall only continue to loom over us all. All that is stated in the ancient prophecies were that she would be found in the land of the demons far beyond where the sun rises."

Master Sensei handed his pupil a box.

"You are now the guardian of the secrets of the Yamanouchi clan. Inside the box are nine scrolls. Without wisdom, they are merely manuals of death and deceit. With wisdom, they will help you combat the demons without and the demons still within your soul. This may be the last time I will see you face to face.

"I am old and long has it been since I have seen my age of rice. I married late in life and had sired my only son, Hirotaka, even later. Soon, I willreside withTakato-_sensei_ and Makito-_Sensei_ at the glade. The years have fallen like cherry blossoms before the first spring rains. They are beautiful, yet too short lived.

"The tenth scroll is my copy of the truths that has been passed down from _sensei _to_ deshi_. The white scroll contains the truths and struggles of everyone in our lineage recorded as they became sensei. You too will recopy the scroll and eventually add your wisdom to be passed on to your deshi so that she may copy it and past it onto her deshi. Think of it as an intergenerational chain letter between master and student. You are now Yori-sensei."

Yori did not want to leave Japan. Even though her job with the police, kept her in Tokyo, her home was the training halls of the Yamanouchi clan. Her parents, grandparents, and ancestors all had their ashes interred in the ancient glade. Yet she knew that Master Sensei would never ask her to forsake her past unless it was necessary. She had her duty, she had to go.

"I will always be with you even tough I travel on to the glade, my child."

Yori vowed to never fail again. She would face her exile like a ninja would be expected to accept death. She would do her duty to the bitter end.

She would hold her funeral rites tonight.


	17. Blueman

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Chapter Sixteen: Blue Man Industries**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT!

* * *

Theodore Andrew Liszt was leaning back in his reclining chair going over the latest annual report.

Overlooking the interior gardens, his office reflected the power of what Business Week called the Conductor.

Liszt was dressed in a tailor-made navy blue suit designed by Mr. Timothy Baylor of London's Upper East Side, Egyptian cotton oxford shirt with French cuffs rolled up to his elbows, and spit-shined cobbler-made leather shoes.

His office was large, but Spartan.

It was just a desk, a laptop PC, laser jet printer/scanner, telephone, a tray with office supplies, chair and a couch that hid a fold away bed.

There were no photo or personal mementos in the office. His walls consisted of one way mirrors allowing him privacy and the ability to enjoy a godlike perspective over the serfs that worked for his enrichment. Only the location and the fact he had a godlike view of the entire lobby gave the impression of power.

The management of Liszt Industries managed to exceed Liszt's expectations.

Liszt was not surprised since carefully selected all his managers with care.

They were all young, hungry, and Liszt gave them free rein as long as they made the numbers and kept their noses clean.

He insured that they were all clean, making the clean money that successfully stood up to IRS investigations and repeated attempts by journalists to find a dirty rat inside of Wall Street's enfant terrible.

Only Ted Liszt and his executive assistant, Bonnie Rockwaller, knew of Liszt's connection to Drakken's criminal syndicate. Human trafficking, black market organ sales, narcotics, weapons smuggling, child pornography, and money laundering were only a few of the rackets into which Drakken dipped his small little hands. The surgeons and dermotologist who bleached his skin and fixed his features all disappeared in a very deep ocean trench.

Bonnie entered the office, poured Liszt a stiff drink, and interrupted his concentration.

"I got a line on Ms. _Perfect_ Possible. Seemed the bitch..."

Liszt audibly cleared his throat.

Bonnie knew that she was pushing the boundaries of Liszt's patience.

Hatred was okay, but all decisions had to be based on practicalities. It was the second law of survival in this criminal world. The first was trust no one.

"Sorry Mr. Liszt. Kim Possible and I have a long history and not all of it was good."

Liszt held his hand up and thought for a minute before motioning for Bonnie to give her report.

"Ms. Possible is currently in no condition to return to Global Justice."

Liszt motioned for more details.

"She's currently finishing up her third year in law school and will clerk for the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. I heard rumors that she will seek a position with either the US Attorney's Office or the Colorado Attorney General. Her brush with death and the death of her fiancé three years ago altered her. She is not the same brash, fearless personality that worked for Global Justice. She lost her lover and is a single mom. She has a son, Ronald S. Possible, age two who will stay with Kim's mother while Kim is away."

Liszt arched an eyebrow.

"Will she be in our way?"

"No, Mr. Liszt. I got a copy of her psych records. It seems Global Justice gets their health insurance though our insurance subsidiary. I left orders for them not to be so picky about granting health insurance coverage or making claim payments for any government or NGO - as long as we get complete copies of all the records. I am also expanding the policy on a case by case basis to certain corporations."

Liszt rewarded his protégé with a slight nod of his head.

Bonnie just earned another hundred thousand dollar bonus. He now had the dirt on government employees and government figures.

"They show that Kim could not pass any psych evaluation for any law enforcement position that might require one to use force.

"Even Global Justice won't risk placing her back in the field. She will either freeze up or go on a self-destructive rampage. In either case, Global Justice won't risk another scandal."

Liszt sat back contemplating Bonnie's report.

"Thank you, Bonnie. What about leads on the death of Montgomery Fiske and one, 'Motor' Ed?"

Bonnie took in a death breath and carefully considered her answers.

"Scotland Yard still does not have any suspects in the abduction, torture, mutilation, and murder of Lord Montgomery Fiske. Inspector David Wainwright is the lead investigator. He is one of the best investigators in Scotland Yard, but even he is drawing a blank."

Bonnie suppressed a grimace when Liszt looked at her.

"I assumed that you have no luck locating the person who mutilated my cousin?"

Liszt broke out of his carefully crafted persona. Despite all the plastic surgery, they could not change what was going inside of his skull.

"The cops have nothing. Whoever did this had an expert's knowledge of forensics? They used homemade napalm carefully using the gasoline and Styrofoam cup recipe from the Anarchist Cookbook to destroy any trace evidence remaining at the crime scene. It took DNA extracted form bone marrow and dental records to ID Mr. Lipsky. ATF and the FBI have nothing save a stack of lab reports. I got copies, but since Edward Lipsky was just..."

"Another villain who couldn't even beat a handicapped kid in a wheelchair, the FBI isn't putting resources into finding who did it, rather trying to find out who is replacing Motor Ed. And me of course."

Liszt's tone was neutral - Too neutral for one who just lost a close family member.

Bonnie had to give some good news to keep in her boss' good grace.

"Sir, the Possible twins are graduating and leaving for MIT in June. They are on inactive status with Global Justice. They won't be in the way when we..."

Liszt held up a small hand. He buzzed his junior executive assistant to clear his schedule for the weekend.

Bonnie knew her place in the hierarchy. Once did not pay over seven hundred thousand dollars a year plus bonuses for a secretary because she was a good typist and an expect stenographer. Bonnie barely passed typing in Middleton High. He only value was handling Liszt's schedule and being the socially acceptable sperm receptacle.

Liszt lost his favorite toy last month. Bonnie suppressed the urge to shake her head. Fool rented her out as if she somehow would not catch some venereal disease. The authorities now had her.

At least the baby would not end up like Bonnie or that little girl. Bonnie hated Liszt as much as the red head bitch Possible. However, Liszt was paying her bills and unlike most single mothers, she had a boss who was accommodating scheduling wise.

No. The only good thing in Bonnie's life was Robert, her son.

For Bonnie who grew up watching her rich dad boff a succession of secretaries and giving her half a dozen step-siblings, her deal with Liszt was a natural as breathing.

Thrown out of the Rockwaller family for getting pregnant, Bonnie had to make ends meet. Fortunately, motherhood was good to her, only making her breasts larger and more desirable and she only suffered the minimal stretch marks.

Two year as a professional _model_ and_ escort_ taught Bonnie how to wrap men around her finger.

Last year, Liszt became her _patron_.

Slowly lowering Mr. Liszt's zipper, Bonnie started earning her paycheck as his organ sprung out.

With an efficiency that came out of years of practice, Bonnie orally massaged her patron's child-maker.

Liszt sat back enjoying the performance. It was almost a good as the last one her received from a certain green-eyed, little girl.

Bonnie was too polished to truly excite the tycoon, but he could not afford to bring his favorite playthings to work.

Besides, the authorities found her and he would not risk revealing himself to retrieve her or the child she was carrying.

Bonnie was moving her mouth faster up and down on the blue organ as Liszt ran his fingers under her skirt, moving her panties aside. Bonnie mind wandered as her body went through the motions.

Bonnie hated Kim Possible since Pre-K.

Ron was her first _best_ friend and Kim had to take him away.

Kim had to take everything that Bonnie strove for away.

Kim had to have the luck to carry his child.

Kim had a family that forgave her when she came home knocked up.

Kim had a family that actually loved her.

Kim had it all and she took Bonnie's happiness away.

Bonnie had a father and uncle who raped her since the age of eight.

Bonnie had a mother how choose not to see what was happening to her daughters.

Bonnie had a father who had her seduce rival businessmen so that he could later blackmail them and take over their businesses.

Bonnie had a father who knock her up and paid Josh in cash, drugs, and sexual access to her sisters if he took the heat and signed the birth certificate.

Bonnie had a father who used her body and then tossed her aside when she became inconvenient.

Bonnie only joy was that she had a son who was safe from having to suffer her fate.

Her father and uncle did not swing to little boys. She remembered their disappointment that she did not give birth to another Rockwaller pleasure toy.

Bonnie remembered all the games. She remembered how her father had her beg and pled to be taken.

Bonnie did not want to.

Bonnie would wear layers of PJ's not to be taken, but her father took her anyways.

Bonnie remembered being whipped into submission.

She hated being called Bon-Bon. It was her rapist father's pet name for his _favorite_ girl.

Once her spirit was broken, Bonnie learned that pain was her only way of getting pleasure. She remembered the lash, the piercings, the training. She remembered kissing the lash before being stroked by it before it stung her being. She remembered the warmth it gave her before she would be violated.

Liszt was Drakken who instinctively knew that she was one who sought the pain.

Liszt/Drakken gave her the pain she desired.

Drakken-Liszt gave her the pain that made her feel loved.

Liszt pulled the girl by her hair and slapped her.

Bonnie felt a warm wetness grow within her folds.

His whipped her with his organ across the face, his seed streaking across her body like the lines in a Jackson Pollock painting.

Liszt bent her over his desk, taking her in the ass. He didn't care that she was not lubricated.

Nor did Bonnie.

She wanted the pain. She needed the pain to make her feel loved.

Liszt stopped before she reached her peak, his seed planted in her anus.

Bonnie was a good secretary and cleaned the blood, sweet, semen, and shit off his _thing_ with her mouth.

She knew that as long as she could keep him excited, he would provide the pain that she needed.

Liszt was the man that destroyed Kim Possible's life and would help Bonnie destroy the lives of her father and sisters. For that and the pain/pleasure that she would receive, Bonnie would ensure the smooth running of Blue Man Inc. - her pet term of Drakken's far flung financial empire.

In due time, it all will be hers for despite the pleasure/pain he gave her, she still hated pedophiles. She would kill Liszt, kill the pedophiles, kill her father. However, they will not die until their spirits were broken as they broke the spirit of a little seven year old girl.


	18. Oversea's Assignment

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Yori's Overseas Assignment**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

_Junsabucho_ (Police Sergeant) Yori of the Japanese National Police Criminal Investigation Bureau entered the Global Justice Headquarter compound. Unlike the discreet warehouse near Kamakura, Global Justice's US base looked like one of those American airbases in Okinawa. The mountains and the pine trees reminded Yori of her childhood home in the Iga province of Japan.

The 9 x 19 mm Parabellum GLOCK 17 and two spare magazines on her hip and the bulletproof vest under her blouse told her that she was in America. In Japan, even officers assigned to the Special Counterterrorism Unit did not carry there weapons off duty, those were left at the barracks.

Yori shook her head with exasperation at the strange ways of Americans.

These Americans complain about Asian girls driving while they drive like maniacs on the wrong side of the road. While she crossed trained with the LAPD, she saw gangs that made the _bosozuku_, (Violent running tribe) biker gangs, of Tokyo look like innocent school children. Even the _boryoudan_, the modern _hachi-kyu-san_ or yakuza, were more respectful of authority than the hooligans that populated the streets of patrolled by the LAPD Hollenbeck division.

Yori flashed her badge and her identification card to the guard at the entry gate.

The guard merely pointed her to the parking lot.

In Japan, they would call and verify that she was expected, not to mention matching her face to the photo her boss faxed over to Global Justice. The man was armed, but he was so vacant in the head. She could only hope that his gun was not loaded.

Yori was unhappy with everything she encountered in the West.

Everything somehow reminded her in some round about way about Iga - the central mountainous province of Japan that Yori once called home. Duty to both the Yamanouchi clan and her comrades at the Criminal Investigation Bureau compelled her to move to America.

The _boryoudan_, had the relationship to the Japanese immigrant community that the Italian Mafia had with the Italian immigrant community. They moved where ever Japanese immigrants settled.

Hawaii, Southern California, New York, and other small Japanese enclaves were all homes to the Japanese Yakuza. There have always been deals cut between the Japanese Yakuza and their Japanese-American cousins for generations.

To combat the trend, the Japanese police have sent liaison officers to America since the early 1960's.

Today it was Yori's turn to go America to liaison with Global Justice.

Dr. Director was straight to the point when Yori reported to her new boss.

"Our Yakuza and your Yakuza are branching out. International arms smuggling, human trafficking, sexual exploitation of children, industrial espionage, bank fraud, narcotics, selling illegally harvested organs on the black market, and stock manipulation are the new chessboards in the struggle between criminal and law enforcement.

"Our best Japanese speakers and undercover agents are highly motivated and highly skilled, but unfortunately they are second, third, fourth, and fifth generation Americans.

"They can speak the language, but their knowledge of slang tends to be a couple generations too old and their knowledge of the culture consists of old family stories about the old country."

"_Hai_, I mean yes, Dr. Director."

"Echelon, the joint US-UK DOD-MOD signals intercept program, has come up with some rather disturbing material.

"In the past, there has been tension between the Japanese Yakuza and their Japanese cousins. For generations, the Japanese regard their cousins in America as polluted and treated them like serfs because they were not true Japanese."

Yori knew that there was still an element of xenophobia residing in Japanese culture, but now was not the time to interrupt her new boss.

"Now someone in America is giving the orders to the Japanese. Not everyone was happy, but the dissenters have been dealt with by someone since the grumblings have died down quickly.

"According to our language experts whoever is calling the shoots is using a voice scrambler so we can't get a voiceprint, but his word choice tells us he is from Japan and he is not from one of the big cities."

Dr. Director's eye locked unto the eyes of her newest subordinate.

"May I examine the intercepts, Dr. Director?"

"They are already downloaded to your terminal. This in not admissible as evidence in the United States and due to our agreement with our British cousins, no one will be able to testify in open court where or how we got these. It's kind of an open secret, been an expose on all the big satellite news channels, but the forms must be followed."

Yori merely nodded as Dr. Betty Director continued.

"We want intelligence. Who is the new puppet master? How did he make nine, fiercely independent, feuding families into his vassals and do so without leaving a visible trail of corpses behind him? I want something original in short simple declarative sentences that even the dumbest cop on the streets can understand."

Yori quickly scribbled down her notes into her ever present notepad.

"Dr. Director, who will I work with and report to?"

"You will report straight to me. If you need anything, contact my executive assistant, Senior Agent William Stu. I have assigned Special Agent Richard Yamaguchi to be your partner in the field. He spent seven years infiltrating the Japanese-American chapter of the Yakuza in Los Angeles before being brunt by a turncoat. He has seen the _elephant_ and so far it's Christians 5, Lions 0."

"Elephant, Christians, and Lions, ma'am?"

Yori was instantly ashamed that she could not immediately translate the American lingo.

"Seeing the elephant means someone has shot at you with the intent to kill. Christians and Lions are the body count. Five lions or bad guys dead with no Christians slash good guys killed or seriously injured. I know your formal English skills are probably better than mine, but you will soon get use to our informal terminology and American sayings. Richard will bring you up to speed and process your paperwork so that you are legally seconded to Global Justice."

After saluting her new boss, Yori walked towards her new office. Along the wall, there were portraits of honored Global Justice Agents, each marked with a black mourning band. At the end of the line there was a pair of soft brown eyes that still haunted Yori's dreams.

Yori knew that Stoppable-san was dead, killed by a cowardly criminal who did not wish to face his fate.

Everyone once thought of Ron Stoppable as the buffoon who blundered in and out of trouble. Everyone thought that it was sheer luck and Kim Possible that kept him alive. Yori was one of the few who knew that inside of Ron was the spirit of a true hero. Now that everyone thought of him as a martyr.

Yori held back the tears. She had lost something special, unique to only her when Ron revealed himself to the world.

Yori walked into a small corner office door with her name written with a permanent ink marker.

Richard Yamaguchi was obviously Japanese American. He was far too tall, big boned, and muscular to be a pure blooded Japanese. His light brown hair suggested that he had some European ancestors in his family tree.

However, his tattoo was peeking out of his collar and the sleeves of his white button-down Oxford shirt. Yori could see that Richard underwent the traditional tattooing.

The way he looked her over took Yori that he had the warrior spirit of his Japanese ancestors. Looking down at his hand, Yori was surprised to see that Richard had all ten of his fingers. It was almost obligatory that any American joining the organization had to perform _yubitsume_, the traditional Yakuza practice of finger cutting, to apologize for their polluted blood.

Richard stood up and introduced himself.

"I am Special Agent Richard Yamaguchi from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I am currently detailed to Global Justice and was formerly know as Richard Yamaguchi, a _koban_ of the Yamaguchi-_gimi_. I can speak the language, but I only know what my grandfather and my former _senpai_ taught me about the customs."

With two hands, Richard handed Yori a small package wrapped in red paper.

Yori couldn't accent a gift from someone she just met. It was too forward for so early in the relationship.

"I can't...it's too much."

"Yori, I apologize if I seem too forward. This is not from me, but rather from our leader, Dr. Director. It's the latest in cell phone technology. The digital scrambler, down to the chips, is made in-house so that no one can intercept our calls. If anyone tries to track you using it, the outgoing phone number changes on a random basis and after every call and text message. Dr. Director can be reached by pressing autodial four. I am on autodial nine."

"Isn't that an insult?" Yori wondered.

Shi or four in Japanese was the same word for death.

"It's a sign of respect, Yori. Death has more mercy than our boss. In the past three years, Global Justice has turned more proactive, in a way they combat fire with fire. The bad guys that Kim Possible fought against were dealt with decisively, save for Drakken.

"However, they are being replaced by more violent adversaries. We don't believe in catching up but staying ahead of the competition. It's the head of the Hydra. Chop one off and two heads, each more vicious than the one that was cut off, grows back."

Yori knew that many FBI agents were either lawyers or certified public accountants and thus were more highly educated than the typical Japanese police investigator. However, American higher education was not noted for developing intellectuals who knew about ancient mythology and literature.

Yori made a mental note to check out her new companion.

"What else?"

"I have to familiarize you with your new mission gear. You probably know more about high tech gizmos than I do. However, I did note that your firearms training is limited to pistols."

Yori wondered what kind of initiation she would have to undergo.

"The American chapter of the Yakuza don't study kendo and karate except to cement their 'Japanese' identity. They now spend most of their time at the gun ranges instead of in the dojo. They were ran of San Diego by the _pinoy_ gangs. I sorry to say that a culture that reveres a sword had a hard time getting use to the culture the inspired the Colt 45. Now they tend to stick to the white collar stuff."

Yori did not hear the term _pinoy_ before. She jotted it down in her notepad.

Richard cleared his throat.

"You don't have to do that. If I am not clear to you, please fell free to interrupt me and ask. _Pinoy_ is the term for Filipinos."

Yori knew that that the Filipinos in the Philippines still carried a resentment against the Japanese for the brutal occupation during World War II.

"So the Filipinos still hate us?"

"Not really. This gang war was over the right to control the rackets in the area around the naval base. With the exception of the first generation and some that have nothing better to do, Asian kids in America generally don't carry the old grudges. In school, we had to band together to fight off the Neo-Nazi wannabes. We eat each other's food, attend each others party, and learn some of each other's language. In fact, there are more problems between the Japanese-American chapter of the yakuza and their cousins from the old country than between the Asian gangs in America."

Yori glanced down at her watch. It was not yet time to call her boss in Japan. Richard caught the signal and moved on to the next item of business.

"I am the tactical firearms instructor and I have taken the liberty of scheduling you for a crash course in handling long arms. They are they only thing that can punch through body armor. It's been in vogue since the North Hollywood Bank of America robbery in the 1990's. Every hot-shot violent hood in America loves Kevlar. Hell, I bought a couple hundred shares of Second Chance, myself, just to cash in on the phenomena. Enough about me, please tell me something about yourself."

"I graduated from the ..."

"Something that is not in the files, please. If you don't feel comfortable, I'll start. I don't like fish soup and am addicted to Japanese rice crackers."

Yori started the quid pro quo game of getting to know her partner as he lead her toward the firearms range.

Yori had her mission and a capable partner.

* * *

It was nine o'clock at night when Yori finally was able to deliver her report to the Director of International Investigations of the Organized Crimes Department or the Criminal Investigation Bureau. Her former boss, _Keishicho_ (Chief Superintendent) Akira Suzuki confirmed the intelligence that Echelon handed over to Global Justice. He also gave her an intelligence summary on one renegade Yakuza Richard Yamaguchi.

According to the files of the Criminal Investigation Bureau, Richard was a rising star in the Japanese American yakuza, known for coordinating the most delicate trans-Pacific operations requiring discretion. The Japanese National Police heard that he specialized in forgery and was rumored to run a currency counterfeiting/money laundering ring that was responsible for washing billions of dirty yen before been invested around the world in legitimate businesses.

When the Americans shut his operations down, he disappeared, and the American authorities collected $125 million US in cash and other assets located around the world.

Her boss was especially shocked and angry to find out that the Japanese police spent hundreds of millions of yen and thousand of man-hours to investigate an undercover American FBI agent and an FBI-Treasury sting operation.

Worse, his counterpart in the FBI did not do him the courtesy of letting him get the any of the results of the investigation. The Japanese authorities could have cut off the money laundering machine and squeeze those yakuza bastards. The Japanese National Police could have used the seized funds. However the Americans and their FBI managed to claim the funds.

His orders to Yori were simple. Develop the intelligence and keep him informed. He did not want to be surprised again.


	19. Chasing Leads

**MOVING ON**

**Chasing Down Leads**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**Lori Zimmercursed the fact that she was on desk duty. She should have never taken the challenge to go down the double diamond ski run. However, everyone else made it look so easy. Easy if you spent all your life skiing in Colorado.

Having grown up in San Diego, she only skied a total of ten days in her life – Nowhere near long enough to survive _Avalanche Drop_. She lucked out in that all she suffers was a broken leg.

Sorting through her files, Colorado Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Lori Zimmer looked down at portrait of her 'niece', Violetta Lee. The two year-old was shown celebrating her second Halloween and was wearing a ballerina's outfit.

_How could an act so cruel bring into the world something so beautiful?_

Zimmer's battered desk was covered by the remnants of her lunch and eight, three-inch thick, files and half a dozen sticky pads with messages to return calls. Each file represented a child's life forever snuffed by the actions of a violent pedophile – all by the same monster.

Inside each file was an eight by ten inch photograph of a beautiful smiling, dark haired, pale skin girl, ages ranging from eight to eleven. All victims were Caucasian or of East Asian ancestry.

Pinned to the other side of the folder were crime scene photographs of their lifeless, mangled bodies.

Worse yet, were the autopsy photos the Medical Examiner's Office took documenting the dissection of what was once an innocent life.

Even a childhood filled with sexual abuse and twelve years as a detective working sex crimes before transferring to homicide could not prepare Lori Zimmer for the level of sadistic violence inflicted on the young girls. This monster knew enough about human anatomy and physiology to inflict massive internal injuries yet have the victims endure in agonizing pain for days.

Ligature marks, bruises, internal bleeding, ruptured organs, torn genitals, and multiple fractures each told a story of suffering. It was Zimmer's job to figure out what happened and find the bastard who did it.

Most rape cases were about anger, domination, and power, rather than sex.

A man would rape an old lady because he is pissed off at his mother or grandmother. Some rapists would rape a woman that resembled a wife or an ex-girlfriend. A rapist often turned out to be physically or psychologically inadequate who used the rape to strengthen their sense of empowerment.

Lori was trying to figure what inadequacy fueled the monster that destroyed the lives of eleven families.

Opening Susan Lee's file, Lori Zimmer went over the litany of abuse that the monster's first known victim suffered for the one thousands nine hundred and thirty seventh time.

Bones were broken, manipulated, almost healed, and broken again. Multiple internal injuries were repeatedly afflicted. Only Susan's rapid healing mutation allowed her to live long enough to share what little information existed in her mind-wiped head.

It was both a blessing and a curse that the other victims were _normal_. Their suffering only lasted days instead of the months Susan Lee had to endure. However, Lori had only the physical evidence and was stuck reviewing the notes of various forensic technicians.

Violetta was the only Zimmer's only living clue to the monster's identity. The other clue was the fact that Drakken used the monster to inflict his vengeance on Violetta's mind-wiped mother. For what... The rap sheet that Zimmer had on Susan Lee did not show any connection to Drakken. Maybe, she was contracted to steal something for him and failed. If so...

Violetta's almond eyes, pale skin tone, and petite, smallish, slim build all were clues to the identity of the monster, but they were not distinctive enough to locate the monster responsible for the deaths of eight girls from Colorado.

Unlike in Zimmer's hometown of San Diego, California, the Eastern Asian community of central Colorado was a relatively small percentage of the population.

Due to Dr. Sanchez's hospital connections with the blood lab and the Upperton University, every EMT and nurse made it a habit to withdraw another blood sample from their all their Asian male patients. Zimmer had another ex-cop friend teaching criminal forensics at the local university. His students process the DNA and other trace evidence collected as part of their upper division forensic science course.

This act was blatantly illegal and would not be admissible in any future court proceedings. However, Lori Zimmer did not give a damn about the esoteric legal theories. Lori's only interest in the law was to make sure that the bastards did not walk away because some bleeding heart asshole of a lawyer found a legal trick.

Besides the only judge that the son of a bitch will be seeing was the business end of Zimmer's GLOCK 22 and a muzzle flash. Lori planned on sending this particular asshole to the divine bar of justice. Her life was about exacting vengeance and stopping the monsters before they could ruin another child's life.

However, despite surreptitiously testing every adult Asian male residing in central Colorado there was no match.

The Department of Justice DNA database and the criminal's modus operandi only served to alert Lori Zimmer that the monster participated in the rape-homicides of thirty-two other girls spread across the continental United States and two more in Canada. There were no matches in any known sex offender registry in the US, Canada, or Europe.

Hence, unlike most perverts, this one managed to make it to the big leagues without getting noticed in the minors.

Zimmer's cell phone started playing some warped version of a symphony. Lori wanted to rip the caller's head off, but she had desk duty until the cast on her leg came off.

"Extension eleven-oh-six. Operator Isaac Three Forty Seven speaking"

Investigators assigned to the sex crime unit would routinely get threatening phone calls so everyone answered their cell phones with a fictitious extension number. When she was transferred to homicide, Lori kept the habit.

"Lori, I'm Miguel Cortez, US Marshal Service."

Lori couldn't stand Deputy US Marshal Miguel Jesus Munoz Cortez. He was the US Marshal Service junior representative, read 'errand boy', on the multi-jurisdictional task force.

The marshal service, and Cortez in particular, quickly made it apparent that their first priority was to hunt down Drew Lipsky and that the monster was a just lead to find a cop killer.

Lori hated the marshals for using local police departments to find their fugitives.

Lori could understand that Cortez went to the academy with one of the marshal's killed when Drakken escaped. If some bastard killed one of her friends, she would be on the rampage too. However, not even a cop killer was bad as the sadistic torturer and killer of little girls. Her frame of mind was instantly distilled into a single sentence.

"Fuck you and the horse you rode on!"

Cursing out people was highly unprofessional, but emotionally speaking was highly satisfying.

"You know that you have just violated half a dozen FCC regulations about mutter obscenities across state lines?"

"So what, are you gonna arrest me?"

"I am a federal agent after all. Nah, a nine by eight prison cell will be an upgrade from that three by five foot cubical you have been calling home."

Lori snorted as Miguel babbled on in a mock southern accent.

"Besides, we marshals don't screw horses anymore. We is a modern law enforcement, ma'am. What dems fancy words those cityfolk use to refer to dem groups of coppers... agency? Can you believe that we just replaced our one-holer with them fancy modern thingies that flush themselves and sinks that turn off and on by themselves? All we have left for relieving our needs are the tailpipes of our SUV's."

Lori mused for a moment whether or not to record the phone call and sue the prick for sexual harassment. Too bad the courts ruled law enforcement was the only job that one could not sue for sexual harassment because people used sexually loaded terminology to protest law enforcements necessary use of force.

"Say what you will."

"I'm the bearer of some good news. Remember that partial print off the second victim, Evelyn Jung, eyelid. The Bureau has a six point match with an immigration live fingerprint scan. Our doer came from the land of the rising sun. Bad new is that his name and other bio-data is missing. All we have is an immigration visa application number which we can't link to a passport. It's coming up blank on the computers.

"Is US Citizenship and Immigration Services is digging through the paperwork to find the actual paper app?"

"Yup, I just called the assistant legal attaché in the Tokyo embassy, Andrea Matthews. She told me that she is digging up the embassy's own paperwork trying to get the dirt on our doer."

"Any chance of getting a photo?"

"A big maybe - If we can find a photo on the paperwork. It is a long shot and photo quality would not be all that great, but it's a lot better than just a print and a bunch of numbers that only some lab geeks can understand."

Lori Zimmer had a lead. She had to wait a while for others to run down the trail, but this was the first big lead in six months.

"Okay, keep me posted. I want the son of a bitch to fry in the electric chair, extra crispy with some extra carbon scoring."

"Lori, in a just and perfect world, when we arrest the guy, I am going to make him sing like a boy band bitch with the wide end of a toilet plunger.

"Then I was going to leave him in general population with some career cons and wise-guys making sure that I will yell Short Eyes. The others will shove a broken broomstick up his ass as soon as the babysitters walk away. I figure that when the guards check on him at mealtimes four hours later – irreversible fatal blood poisoning will have taken effect and we have just run out of pain killers in the infirmary. Thirty six hours of agonizing death."

Detective Zimmer smiled at the thought before launching into her objections.

"But..."

"Yah, the son of a bitch will just call a thousand dollar an hour lawyer from the big city who will bail him out and use the old boy judges network to spring him loose on a technicality and have us investigated by some special prosecutor for assorted civil rights violations. Who says we are civilized? I got to call the others. See you at the next meeting."

Lori Zimmer was rapidly typing up her notes of the conversation minus the unprofessional conduct when she heard the click of the phone line.


	20. Hench Co Hostile Takeover

**MOVING ON  
Chapter Eighteen: Dementor Loses  
By Pat Squared

* * *

**

Miss Bonnie Rockwaller, a newly minted lawyer and Liszt Industries Special Projects VP, was admitted into the boardroom of Schoenberg Technology Services, Inc. and took an empty seat at the table. Her presence was barely noted by the others in the room. The others were compiling marketing projections and double checking next year's fiscal projections. 

The room was appropriately decorated as a conference room in a middle-size corporation should be decorated. There was a proper mix of steel, black leather, earth tone carpet, and glass crafted to reflect modernism without generating the negative vibe of impersonal coldness. Having been, Theodore Liszt's right hand, Bonnie spent her days going in and out of boardrooms representing the interest of Liszt Industries.

Over three years, Bonnie Rockwaller proved very adept at managing not only Drakken's criminal enterprises, but proved an invaluable in assisting Ted Liszt's (Drakken's alter ego) legitimate businesses.

When she started working at Liszt Industries, Drakken had to give her an exact play-by-play plan for her to execute his plans. Now Bonnie would just do her thing, solve the problem, and decide whether or not to inform the boss that there was even a problem in the first place. The only rule was that Drakken had to personally approve any eliminations or kidnappings.

Today was going to be a great day for Drakken. The long-term war between Drakken and DeMenz would be decisively decided today.

Matthew Schoenberg, DeMenz's nephew, was the front man for one Professor Dementor DeMenz as Schoenberg Technology Services, Inc. was the cover for HenchCo. As Liszt's major domo, Bonnie Rockwaller had enough clout to walk into almost any boardroom and be accorded respect, save for Rockwaller General Services, Inc. That was personal business that she would rectify at a place and time of her choice.

Since Bonnie started her career as Theodore Liszt's personal assistant, Liszt had quietly bought five percent of all the outstanding shares of Schoenberg. Anymore, and they would have to file paperwork with the Securities Exchange Commission. This paperwork would alert Dementor to Liszt's takeover.

For the past year, Bonnie and Liszt had worked on a quiet coup to add Schoenberg to Liszt Industries list of subsidiary companies.

On schedule, Bonnie's PDA hummed telling her that Drakken had managed to blackmail enough Middle Eastern and European moneymen about their roles in the "Oil for Food" scandal to gain effective control of sixty five percent of the outstanding shares of Schoenberg Technology Services.

She looked down at the antique Rolex on her slim wrist. In ten seconds, thirty two pairs of eyes bored into her with anger and fear as they received news of the coup on their monitors.

Bonnie merely walked up to the head of the table and took the gavel out Schoenberg's stunned hands.

"Members of the board, I am Bonnie Rockwaller and I am the duly authorized representative of Liszt Industries. My instructions from Mr. Liszt were simple. All senior officers are instructed to proved undated letters of resignations and a copy of their CV's by the end of business tomorrow. Next month, I will personally interview all senior officers."

Fear was running throughout the room. The executives that oversaw Schoenberg's more risky ventures knew that they would be the first to go. The ones that 'Polished up the brass knocker most faithfully', as an old song once played, were already scheming how to suck up to Bonnie Rockwaller.

Bonnie knew that she held all the power. She would watch the cat fights and selectively cull out those who did not meet her exacting standards.

Bonnie concluded her speech with a small statement to give the risk takers some ammunition in the corporate political catfight. The risk takers were the ones she preferred to keep. Suckups, her sister were suckups to her father. They were the ones that held her down the first time her father and uncle raped her.

BONNIE, KEEP YOUR MIND ON THE GAME. Bonnie could not afford to make bad decisions because she was upset. It was the one thing about Liszt that she respected.

"Liszt desires that Schoenberg Technology maintains its history of innovation. Innovation is never efficient, but necessary to maintain market dominance over the long run. Dominance mean profits and profits fuel more innovation. That is the vision that we will embrace. Other than that, I will leave you all to conduct your business. However, as of now, noting is finalize without my personal approve. Mr. Schoenberg, I will be next Thursday at nine. I don't want to see a dog and pony show."

Bonnie wanted to spend more time at the meeting, but she had to pull her own personal coup at a large Midwestern financial services firm.

With the impassive face of an experience poker player, she walked toward the defeated front man. He was still in denial and was not totally broken. His eye betrayed his calculating mind. He was planning something. Too dangerous to be cut loose. Too valuable to be eliminated. She knew that she had to convert him to her cause.

Bonnie eagerly looked forward to personally breaking Michael Schoenberg spirit. He was kind of handsome in a rigid open way for a forty-five year old and she heard rumors about his performance in bed. Turning this one into an ally will be her next step to taking over Lizst Industries.

Bonnie had decided to make him one of her personal pets. Drakken enjoyed watching her work both in the boardroom and in the bedroom.

Walking by her defeated rival, she whispered to Schoenberg, "Please be a dear and tell Professor DeMenz that an old friend will want to see him Wednesday night. Strictly business – nothing personal."


	21. Little Puppies

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Chapter Twenty: Little Puppies**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

Dr. Roberta Sanchez was living in every mother's nightmare. 

Today was a big milestone in her foster child's life. Four and a half years ago, the medical consenses was that Violetta would not live longer than a couple years. No child born addicted to _red cystal_ lived longer than 20 months and universally all these children suffered from severe mental impairment. Violetta was the miracle baby, or more correctly fortunate to inherit her mother's rapid healing abilities. Dispite having to take a maintainance dose of the drug everyday, Violetta only sign of imparament was a stutter.

It was time to take Violetta Lee to her first day of school. Violetta, or V, was throwing a temper tantrum worthy of any opera diva.

Like many other kids on their first day of school, Violetta hanged on her guardian's leg with a death grip and wouldn't let go. The child mixed her usual brand of stuttering and brawling into a melody of anguish that would drive any opera compose to envy.

A PhD in psychology and a reputation as Colorado's number one head shrink was worthless against a four year-old girl as obstinate as Violetta. Violetta was not only brawling, but started kicking Dr. Sanchez in her leg.

"Do you want me to tell Tita Lori to not take you to the Bunny Slippers Show?" Roberta pleaded as she suppressed the urge to slap the four year old silly.

Roberta's hands were too busy trying to fend off her foster daughter's kicks.

Violetta was too far gone into her tantrum to listen to her foster-mother's threats. The mind behind the almond-shaped green eyes was far too busy figuring out new ways of punishing Tita Berta for her betrayal.

Eventually, the staff peeled the flailing child from Dr. Sanchez's limbs allowing her to escape.

Now, the other kids were crying in fear that the child would kick them. Violetta went even more berserk as Dr. Sanchez left the nursery school straight to the hospital to check in on her patients.

The staff of Little Stars nursery was experienced enough to keep an eye on their new star pupil. The young diva was ready to brawl with any adult or child who approached her. The only one that was not prepared to fend off the child was the next adult entering the school room.

Colorado State Deputy Assistant State Prosecutor Kim Possible was distracted by her son, Ronald S. Possible throwing his version of a temper tantrum. Like his mother, Ronnie Possible had to do everything to the highest standard and that included throwing a class A temper tantrum.

As Ms. Possible walked into the door she failed to see the little girl.

Upset by the betrayal by her Tita 'Berta, Violetta saw another child being betrayed. Something in her head told her to help him.

Kim was wearing a knee length skirt and blouse. Because Ronnie ruined her panty hose when he played with the washing machine, there was nothing to interfere with the bite. Violetta made her move and started biting the bad lady's exposed legs.

The staff was in shock as Violetta attacked Ms. Possible with a vengeance. Ms. Possible screamed as twenty teeth locked in with the tenacity that would shame any game bred pit-bull. The little girl not only bit her target but actually started throwing her weight around. Her puppy, Baby, did it every time she got a firm bite on the hanging rope, so why shouldn't she.

Ronnie saw the little girl bit his mommy and decided that is exactly how he is going to prevent mom from leaving him. He copied the little girl and bit his mom on the other leg. He just forgot to shake, but that was understandable as he never had a chance to observe a dog in action.

Now, Kim Possible had two kids and forty teeth latched unto her legs playing pit-bull. Her screams mobilized the staff to act. It took the staff several minutes to pry the two biters off of Kim's leg.

The staff members were holding two violently thrashing kids careful to keep clear of the teeth. Kim looked at the two kids.

One little redhead half Irish Catholic, half-Jewish boy, age five, and one little raven-hair, half-Asian girl, age four, managed to do what Kim's former enemies only wished that they could do - defeat Kim Possible and sent her retreating with her tail between her legs.

Looking at her legs, Kim Possible knew that she too had to get to a hospital and get stitches. Kim decided to pull out her arsenal in the mother-child war, the three part name.

"Ronald Stoppable Possible - How could you bite … your own mother?"

Ronnie just snapped back with the three most terrible words a boy could say to his mother.

"I hate you!"

Ronnie saw the stunned look on his mother's face and took advantage of his latest weapon in the everlasting parent-child battle by repeatedly yelling his new-found mantra.

Violetta hated the lady and repeated a phrase that she overheard Tita Lori say one day when she was cut off by a horrible driver. Vee got punished for repeating the bad words, but now neither Tita Lori or Tita Berta was not around to hear her repeat it.

Violetta's stuttered, "Stu-stu-stu-stupid bi-bitch!"

Violetta bit the worker, who reflexively released her. She immediately started running around the room singing the bad phrase over and over again.

"Stupid bitch!"

The funny speech doc that 'Tita Berta sent Violetta every weekend told her that if she sang the words she wouldn't stutter so much. Now it was time to put the advise to practice.

Ronnie screamed, "I hate you!" between Violetta's "Stu-stupid bitch!"

The other kids thought it was a song and started singing, "I hate you, stu-stupid bitch!" as if it was a sing along song.

The staff at Little Stars Nursery School was in a panic.

Now all the kids were following Violetta Lee Sanchez singing "I hate you stupid bitch!" at the top of their lungs.

It was funny to the four and five year olds how the staff turned red, ran around, and waved their arms in the air as if the sky was falling. The kids enjoyed the new game and started playing along copying the adults. Because of the running kids, the staff hard a difficult time trying to catch the slippery girl without being bitten.

Before noon, fifteen parents had to pick up their kids who were signing "I hate you, stu-stupid bitch!" all the way home.

Dr. Sanchez and Ms. Possible were told that Ronnie Possible and Violetta Lee were no longer welcomed at Little Stars Nursery School. The two women were quickly given refunds, given back their kids, and told to never come back.

Over the next several days, Ms. Possible, recovering with four dozen stitches in her legs, and Dr. Sanchez were at home futilely trying to find a nursery school or day care center that would take in their troublesome kids.

By the time, the mothers worn down a school into taking the two budding troublemakers, Ronnie and Violetta were tighter than evil Siamese twins.

An article printed in the local paper on bad language and preschool would forever immortalize the song and firmly forever link the pair together as Middleton's number one troublemakers.


	22. Drakken Wept

**MOVING ONWARDS**

**Drakken Wept**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**Theodore Liszt rubbed his temples. Revenues and profits for Liszt's legitimate companies exceed the expectations of Wall Streets most optimistic analysts by twenty percent and his own by fifteen.

He had politicians and ministers from Washington D.C. to Beijing, China on the payroll ready to enact his _suggestions_.

He managed to defeat Team Possible.

He had successfully entrench his corporations into places where he knew more what was going on in any government than the bureaucrats.

He could buy and sell Canada in a minute if he was so inclined.

His number two, Bonnie Rockwaller, proved herself the best lieutenant a crime boss could ask for as well as a wonderful bed warmer.

He has succeeded beyond the wildest dreams.

Trying to be the ruler of the world was something for amateurs.

He now owned it.

Villiany was _so _overrated.

The years he as Dr, Drakken spent in liars with Shego, evading the authorities were long over. Yet they were the happiest years of his life.

Alexander the Great once wept when he conquered the known world.

Liszt now knew why. The pursuit of happiness was infinitely better than getting it and dealing with the associated headaches.

He even missed the sarcastic comments and plasma blasts that Shego tossed about whenever he mentioned his latest plan to take over the world.

It was funny that he still fantasized about his old sidekick.

Bonnie was great in bed, but she was not a challenge he wanted.

Shego would not let anyone near her room.

Part of him felt cheated.

Drakken had a thing for his old sidekick, yet it took a mind-wipe and three months of letting the monster work her over before Shego would be a compliant lover.

He never had Shego.

Global Justice took Shego away and left him with a child in Shego's shell.

The child did what it did out of fear, not out of love.

He would wake up in the middle of the night and watch the childwhimper in her sleep beggingJesus to end the pain.

Perhaps it was best that the authority found the child and took her away. Shego died the moment Global Justice wiped her mind.

It was far too late.

Whenever he managed to get some sleep, his nightmares were of Team Possible coming back from the grave to get him or of Shego coming to destroy him with a well aimed plasma blast.

He wondered what ever happened to the child Shego was carrying.

He knew that it was not his.

The bump on her belly was starting to show before he had his crack at what remained of Shego.

The child would have been of some use.

It would have been the ultimate culmination of two criminal bloodlines.

Shego's powers crossed with the temperament of the world's best assassin.

The childwould have been easy to mold, a weapon worthy of one such as him. However, that was water over the dam as his mother would say.

Tomorrow, Drakken had to negotiate some business with the monster that broke Shego's spirit – One hundred kilograms of medicinal grade cocaine in return for three shipments of young girls from China, Vietnam, and Cambodia. Demand was picking up for rental girls and the producers were being paid top dollar.

Drakken rolled over and reached into his drawer. Red crystal is the only thing that allowed him any sleep at night. He injected it into his veins letting the euphoria take over.

Drakken wept until he fell unconscious.


	23. Family Tree

**MOVING ON**

**Children Can Be Cruel**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

Today, Mrs. Bloom was more than a little upset with the _Evil Siamese Twins_. 

Together, they made more problems than any of the other second grade classes she taught over the past thirty-three years.

Today, someone, most likely those two,glued butcher paper to the chalkboard so the she could not conduct classes.

Too bad, she mused, that corporal punishment was made illegal for schools just after she got her teaching credentials.

If anyone asked Mrs. Bloom, she would be the first to admit that Saint Sebastian's Catholic Grade School was being coruptted by Colorado's school voucher law.

Since Middleton did not have the population to set up a magnet school, parents used the voucher system to send their brighter kids to Middleton's only private school.

In Mrs. Bloom's opinion, the cursed law only served to bring in pupils who were obviously the latest incarnation of the Anti-Christ. Ronald Possible and Violetta Lee were living proof that the _Anti-Christ_ was present right now on earth.

The school had had a limited number of seats.

To be in compliance with the voucher program, any open seats (seats left after the prior years class is promoted and after the ones that were taken by those parents not using the voucher system) were doled out on the basis of an entrance exam and interview. There were two open seats for the second grade. They went to the worst pair of children on the planet.

Ronald S. Possible and Violetta Lee had both maxed out their exam scores. They both scored high enough to be admitted into the fourth grade, but their mothers had them admitted to the second grade so that they can be with their age mates.

Hence, the two demon spawn were constantly board and spent their time looking for ways to make their jail warden, Mrs. Bloom's, life a living hell.

Despite Violetta's stuttering problem, both kids were becoming too popular with their classmates and more kids were starting to act out in imitation of their _heros_ in the war against adult domination.

It had to be them.

Only those two misfits were imaginative enough to come up with pranks that were so cleverly disruptive.

Last month, they rigged her seat to collapse when she sat upon it. She could not prove it, but she knew that it was them. The other kids pranks were limited to thumbtacks and whoopee cushions in the seat.

Mrs. Bloom grew to hold the pair in her special contempt. Note even Internal Revenue Service auditor ranked so high on her _I Hate_ list.

Ron's red hair and freckles, and Violetta's almond shaped green eyes haunted her dreams.Mrs. Bloomhad to always be on watch with the evil ones parading about. She could never relax or the evil Siamese twins would pull their next prank. She wanted to do something more than just grant detention and hold other parent teacher conference.

However Mrs. Bloom couldn't use the tried and true method of pop quizzes to snap the pair into line. They were way too alert and too smart. The brats already knew the answers and giving them another A and another gold starto take home to mommy would make the pair even more insufferable.

She had an idea.

Mrs. Bloom knew that Violetta was a foster child.

As such,Violetta didn't have a family per se.

At this point in their lives, kids are always ribbing other kids about being adopted.

If the secret got out, the other kids will punish Violetta for her. She just had to make sure the facts leaked out.

"Class," Mrs. Bloom announced, "I have a special project for you. We are going to make our family trees."

As Mrs. Bloom drew an example of a family tree on the butcher paper covered blackboard and describe her requirements, she glanced at Violetta. The little girl was squirming in discomfort with her hand up in the air.

"Yes, Miss Lee?" Mrs. Bloom _innocently_ asked.

"Wha-What if-f-f I-I am-m adopted?" Violetta's face turned red as she sputtered out the question.

The other girls were already snickering at Violetta's inadvertent admission. Violetta had already angered some of the girl by climbing up the social rank despite ignoring the boys are yucky rule.She hung out with that Possible kid and did not do all the things that girls normally did. Now they have the ammunition to take her down.

The assignment is already having the desired effect on Violetta's social standing among the other girls in the class.

Mrs. Bloom nonchalantly replied, "Just try to get what you can on your birth mom. Her name will be on your birth certificate. Our librarian will be able to use the computer in the library to help you track down the other names to fill in the family tree and can even sometimes help you find photos. Just try to get as many photos as possible."

Each child was to try to get photos of their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, first cousins, and siblings.

Violetta seemed to physicallyshrink as she saw the other kids draw big trees on poster-size sheets of construction paper. She looked at her sheet in despair. Her family tree would more resemble a blade of grass than any kind of tree.

Worse, the other girls were snickering at her for being _adopted_.

She knew that she did not even rate that high. Since her foster mom was too old for the agency to allow the adoption and she was a red crystal baby, no one would ever adopt her. Being a foster kid was even lower than being adopted. At least if you were adopted, it was proof that someone wanted you.

It was hard enough to climb out of social purgatory when everyone says that you talk funny. It was harder when you were a tomboy.

Violetta had to earn her place in the social food chain the hard way. Now all the jokes, pranks,and fights were for nothing.

Now, the others were joking that she was a _trash can baby_, since she had to be adopted. It would only be worst once they learn that she is a foster child and not even good enough for adoption.

Things got worse at recess for Violetta.

Usually, she was the first one picked when they played kickball. Today, she was picked last.

Even Matt Gordon, the four-eyed, insect eating, nose picker, who tripped over his own two feet, and cooties breeder was picked before her.

Violetta didn't even bother playing.

They weren't her friends.

Violettajust walked away to the big tree by the jungle gym to sulk. No one would play with her anymore.

She did not have the cooties. She did not touch or bump into cooties-boy Matt. She did not pick her nose and eat her buggers, at least not where anyone can see her.

Violetta just sat there looking at her former_friends_ playing kickball without her.

She was the best at kickball.

The ball always went where she wanted it to go and it went further that any other second or third grader can kick it.

They always picked her first. She was the best. She was better at the games then they were. Now she treated as if she was invisable.

Violetta wanted the bell to ring and recess to be over.

Violettavowed to hate recess and never play with the other kids again. Sheprayed thatrecesswould be forevered cancelled. She wanted her classmates to be locked up in the class room and made to suffer all day. She wanted them dead. Mrs. Bloom, Matt Gordon, Heather, Amanda, Henry, Tommy, Dave, Susie, Jeanie, Mary, Dean, Christine, Ray, and Howard - Every one of her classmates turn their back on her.

Violetta found herself crying in the shadows of the tree when she felt a nudge. Looking up, she saw her fellow troublemaker Ronnie Possible.

"Why?"

Ronnie saw something that would forever make him immune to his mother's and grandmother's puppy dog pout.

The puppy dog pout was a simulation of sorrow.

However, Ron saw what sorrow really looked and felt like.

He saw the hurt and tears in the eyes and quivering lips of his best pal.

No one could physically hurt Violetta and break her spirit.

Even when the sixth grade big bully hit her, V would not cry.

She just fought on until the teacher pulled her off of the bully.

Yet, now she was crying. Ronnie did the only thing he could do. He sat by his friend and tried talking to her in the private language they developed since Pre-K.

Violettajust shivered and let the emotional waves of anger and loneliness washed over her. Ronnie just held her letting his best friend cry herself out.

The bell soon rang and Ronnie just walked V over to the line. She could not hold back the tear no matter how hard she tried. The other kids started taunting him, saying that he has cooties because he touched Violetta.

The kids pushed and shoved Ronnie and Violetta to the rear of the line so they would be the last kids to drink from the water fountain. The other kids did not want Violetta's cooties. She was the _trash-can baby_ after all.

The breaking point happen when Howard Kennedy, the resident second grade bully, poured a bottle of glue on Violetta's head before yelling "Trash can" at the top of his lungs.

Ronnie did something that he never had done before. He initated a fight by punching the loudmouth in the mouth. More shocked than hurt, the kid fell. A general free for all erupted.

To Ronnie, he did not care that he would be punished for throwing the first blow.He had learned that authority can be just as corrupt as any villian and he vowed to fight the authority no matter what the cost. Smiling, he let his anger loose. He did nto thing about the blows, they just came to him. Monkey power ran though his bloodlines.

Violetta joined her best friend. Ronnie got in trouble for her sake. Sadness and fustration turned into anger. All the anger that she bottled up, all the times the other kids commented on the fact that she _talked funny_, all the shame and anger about being different and thus a target what thrown into every punch. Anger and an instintive knowledge of how to channel it ran though her blood.

However, two kids could not stand against eighteen other kids forming an imprompto mosh pit charging the pairfrom all sides. Although instints clicked, the pairdid not have the skills to take advantage of them.

So Ronnie and Violetta were beat up by the other kids until Mrs. Bloom broke up the fight. Mrs. Bloom was not too busy tending to injuries to notice the gleam of excitement in the eyes of her students. The vicious predators of second grade caught the signal. It would be open season on Ronnie Possible and Violetta Lee for the social predators of Saint Sebastian Grade School.


	24. Guess Who Coming Home?

**Moving Onwards**

**Guess Who is Coming Home for Diner?**

**By Pat Squared**

* * *

Despite being identical twins and having similar interests, the twins did not have a single personally. Jim was the gung-ho, don't think about things too much, and just do it, while Tim was the type that preferred to operate from a plan. It was the yin-yang combination that sometimes drove the Possible twins crazy when dealing with each other. 

Jim was edgy waiting at the counter, while Tim was outside copping a _fag_ from some limey outside the pub.

It was ironic that the British term for Tim's filthy habitis the American term for the situation that described the source of Tim's current problems.

After twenty eight years, the pair was going to split up.

It was expected by society and down deep in Tim's heart he expected it to happen.

Grow up, graduate with a _piled higher and deeper_ degree in engineering, find that special girl, and get hitched.

Unfortunately, Jim's girl turned out to be a guy.

Tim couldn't believe it at first.

Jim was the extroverted athletic one who picked up girls like Ron's old naked mole rat once scarfed up nacos.

Even when the paid were trolling for girls together, the girls alway homed in on Jim first.

Jim was the first one to score at the age offourteen with Laura Mankey, monkey boy's little sister.

Jim passed unto Tim the pickup methods that finally allowed Tim to shed his virginity sixteen months later with Roberta Flagg.

Jim had more women on a string than any master pimp and he decided to trade in all that _pussy_ for _ass_.

Tim grew up sharing the same bed with his _gay_ brother and he couldn't figure it out.

Tim was confused, but dad was upset enough to end up being treated in the hospital for chest pains with Jim came out of the closet.

Tim did not want things to change.

Jim was his brother.

Jim was the one who assembled the rockets under Tim's carefully prepared plans.

Jim was the one that protected Tim from all the bullies back in elementary until Tim managed to pick up some fighting skills of his own.

Jim was the half that made the Tweebs the best Global Justice Team ever.

It took a while for Tim's parents to accept the fact that Jim will not be fathering a little Possible.

Although Tim's nephew, Ronald Dean Possible was technically a Possible because Kim's finance, Ron, died before Kim and Ron made it to the wedding, Tim knew that his nephew was basically a Stoppable in all but name.

Now it would be up to Tim to find that special girl to continue on the Possible legacy.

Tim's life became a nightmare.

His mom was trying to arrange dates with the _girls_ or more like members of the former East German shot-put team. Maybe they were nice, but he would not even think of diddling them even to save the human race.

His dad was treating Tim like he was the only hope.

Last night, Tim had a bad case of insomnia.

Like American televions, late night British television consisted of ancient movies or really bad comedies. British television was like British food ... generally indigestible. The land that gave America Benny Hill or Monty Python had stuff that would not even make it to that cheesy flick show.

Channel flipping, Tim came across a late 1960's movie staring Spencer Tracy, Katherine Hepburn, and Sidney Poitier called _Guess Who's Coming to Dinner_. The tension depicted matched the tension in the Possible household when Jim came out of the closet and introduced Danny Flagg as his finance.

Danny Flagg and Jim Possible knew each other since they played together on the Middleton High School varsity football squad. After graduation, they went off to different colleges. While Tim and Jim were getting engineering degrees, Danny managed to score a degree in economics, a CPA, and a JD.

According to Jim, their meeting was an accident. They literally bumped into each other at JFK airport. _Soon they were bumping uglies._

Tim having seen and did a lot of disgusting things in the past could only image all too well what happened. Ron Stoppable had the right term for such things – Sick and Wrong

Neither of the gay lovers matched the stereotypes thatsociety associated with homosexuals. There was no effeminate lisps, no limp wrists, no soft pastels anywhere in the wardrobe or in their apartment. Nor were they acting like manly men like lumberjacks or the actors _on Brokeback Mountain_. They did not even resemble metro-sexuals. Tim just thought the pair good pals until they came out of the closet.

However the movie did not portray what happened afterwards. His parents turnto Tim. The two people that were desperite trying to prevent Tim from engaging in pre-martial sex during Tim's high school years, were trying to hook him up married or no marriage just so that Tim would spread the Possible pollen and the world will have another generation of _true _Possibles.

_Thank you, Jim. Now I can't have unprotected sex without dad cheering me on to knock some girl up._

Sometimes Tim swore that _being gay_ was must simpler that having to deal with the fact that your twin brother is gay. Once you're gay no one expects you to find the perfect girl and have the perfect two point five kids and live the perfect _Leave It to Beaver_ lifestyle. Now it was up to the straight son to be what society demanded.

Tim lost his humanity when he tortured and killed all those villains on a futile quest to track down Dr. Drakken.

Since then he could not feel like an ordinary guy was suppose to feel.

Lust, arousal, anger, jealousy, and fear were still there, but ever since that day, Tim could not feel any positive emotions.

Jim had his little buddy, Danny, but Tim now had no one who could understand the mutilation of his soul. Tim dated and even _scored_ on a clockwork basis, but Tim could not find the thing in his heart that allowed a man to be a man worthy of a woman's love.

Tim was jealous of Ron and Kim. Even though their love was cut short by _that fucking Smurf_, they had that emotional connection. They were married in all but name since they first meet in Pre-K. Kim was not really alive anymore, but just going through the motions of life to raise her child.

Tim knew that he would never have a love like that in his life. Maybe some unlucky girl would fall in love with him, but there was no love left inside of Tim's heart to share.

It was time to go inside. The coal of the unfiltered Turkish cigarette was almost burning Tim's fingertips. The contact handed him the message with the cigarette. The message was why the pair traveled to merry old England. Hopefully the message would point the way to Drakken.

Once this businesswas dealt with, Jim could return back to his _lover_, while Tim would return to live his empty life and find the unlucky girl who he will share with life with and grow to resent.


	25. Unlucky No 1

**Moving Onwards**

**Unlucky Number One**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**Lori Zimmer of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation's Homicide Taskforce rubbed her exhausted eyes. For three years, the sadistic pedophile went underground. Tonight he left another sign of his presence in Colorado.

An airport groundskeeper discovered a bloated body at 4:30 this morning. Airport police were called in and wisely secured the crime scene allowing the forensic technicians of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation do the real work.

Zimmer was on the scene, not because she was the next investigator on the _wheel_, but simply because she was planning to fly out to Quantico, Virginia, the home of the FBI Behavior Sciences Unit, to try to rework another psychological profile on the sex bastard that was responsible for the rape-homicides of over fifty girls spread across the country. Her cell phone rang as she was checking in her luggage.

Now her duty pistol and change of clothes were airborne while she was stuck on the ground coordination the initial investigation.

She made the phone calls so that the FBI would be expecting her to come in with new material and so the TSA would not _tow and blow_ her luggage. Only idiots on the silver screen defuse bombs, the professionals just blow it in place.

If it was not time to trim the trees south of runway 18, no one would have discovered the body for a couple months.

Having worked every killing that this bastard did, Lori spotted the signs.

The killer was intelligent, organized, yet able to surgically inflict slow death. He taunted the authorities with every body. He left just enough clues to let them know that it was his _special art_ that he left behind.

Lori hated crawling into the mind of a killer, especially this one, but crawling into his twisted mind would be the only way that she would be able to trap him.

Lori did not need the medical examiner to tell her that the _Monster in the Dark _returned. The media somehow found out that Susan Lee, the only victim that live long enough to speak to law enforcement, called the killer the _Monster in the Dark_. Soon they shortened it to the MID Killer.

The city fathers of Middleton, Colorado did not exactly appreciate that kind of publicity.

They will take and log the medical data, identify and link the semen to all the other murders, and the coroner will identify the body. If she was lucky, the victim would not live in Colorado. Then all Lori had to do was to call a detective in other police department to do the hardest thing a cop could ever do. Tell a family that their love one would never come back. However, that only happened once. All the other bodies found in the state were locals. It would be up to Zimmer to break the news.

There were dozens of technicians about with cameras and surveying gear recording the _dump _site for posterity.

Zimmer glanced upon the body of a little girl - Age ten, four foot tall, dark hair, and completely nude save for little pink bobby socks on her little feet. For now, the child would be dubbed Bobby Doe 19-1-1. The first unidentified body found in the County of Denver during 2009.

It was New Years Day and surprisingly all the drunks killed last night had identification on their corpses, so this child earned the unlucky prize of being the first unidentified body found in the New Year. It was an honor that no one should ever earn.

Zimmer walked out of the crime scene to breath in some relatively fresh air. Thankfully it was cold, being a Colorado winter. This body was not a stinker, despite being bloated.

Lividety told Zimmer that this place was only a dump site. Petecchial hemorrhaging and _raccoon eyes_ told Zimmer that the child was suffocated among other things.

The real treasure trove would be the abduction and kill sites. However, with serial killers, at least the smarter ones, law enforcement rarely found the kill sight. However the sites would be a place that made the killer felt comfortable. Killing was a private act more powerful and shameful than sex. Like most folks and sex, killers like privacy when they experience the moment of ecstasy.

So far the killer showed not observable pattern to his abduction and dump sites. However, the kill sites would reveal everything. If only law enforcement could find one.

Normally, it would be nearby. Who in their right mind travels hundreds of miles with a body in the truck? However, with serial killers, there were no safe bets. Some of them study the police and FBI manuals more fervently than the detectives and they change up the rules of the game like a pitcher changes up his pitches to confuse the batters.

_Find the kill sites, you find the killer._


	26. Forced Retirement

**Moving On**

**Forced Retirement**

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

Please feed my muse, 

she is starving to death, 

having to work three stories at once. 

Please review and feed her a virtual cookie. 

- O - 

It was three thirty in the morning when the cell phone rang. Normally the person that would be picking up the phone would be upset that she was woken up at this ungodly hour. However, she was too wired on caffeine and adrenaline to fall asleep the night before.

Gingerly, she slipped into the black san pearls outfit that was common to cat burglars and law enforcement special operations personnel. At Oh Dark Hundred, Global Justice Agent Yori Suzuki was on the hunt for one of the most vicious _yakuza_ _oyabuns_ ever to ascend the dais.

Just before dawn, there was going to be a meeting of the West Coast yakuza crime bosses with the head of the Japanese yakuza. Tonight, she would have a chance to put a face to digitally manipulated voice that she heard on police surveillance tapes. Tonight she was going to either slap the cuffs on her elusive quarry or send him on a one way trip to the graveyard.

A familiar hand reached out and tried to grab hers.

"Stop that damn thing and get back to bed, honey."

"Sorry sleepy head, but we got bad guys to catch."

Global Justice Senior Agent Richard Yamaguchi was for the past four year her partner both in the bedroom and out in the field. Unlike many other law enforcement agencies, Global Justice did not care if the partnership extended to co-ed _extracurricular_ activities and horizontal dancing as long as the job was done.

"Okay honey. After we get this guy, we are going to take all our accumulated vacation time and go someplace with white sandy beaches, clear blue waters, mixed drinks with the clique umbrellas, and no damn cellphones. Imagine six months of private Japanese lessons with my favorite long-haired dictionary."

"Pervert, what do you mean favorite long-haired dictionary? I better be your only long-haired dictionary or I will perform _yubitsume_ on the little piece of skin you call your joystick between your legs. Besides, I can not afford to pay for a six month stay on some beach."

Richard smiled at his lover's pseudo-injured tone. In four years, Yori went from a guilt ridden girl to a wonderful woman full of life.

"I know a couple old FBI safe houses on the beach in the Virgin Islands that we used to debrief some Jamaican big shot when I was a rookie making my bones. Also my old training agent is in charge of maintaining the houses on the islands. I give him a heads up and as long as a deputy director does not want to have an extended dictation session with his male administrative assistant, it's ours."

Yori knew what was playing out in Richard's mind. Six months of debauchery was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Yori responded with a snort, "Virgin Islands because lover boy was one until ..."

Richard ended the comment by sitting up, wrapping his arms about her waist, picking her up, and dropping her unto the bed.

He nibbled on her ear as he whispered, "How about a little appetizer now?"

Yori snickered, "Anything to get out of work. Get up and get ready. Everyone is coming here in half an hour. Let's not confirm the rumor until after we get the big _wolf_ back into the cage. Afterwards you can have all the dessert in the world."

Many a night, dessert was served in bed.

Although Yori still had a crush on Ron Stoppable and still carried the guilt from Hirotaka's disappearance and death, she knew that she loved the man that shared her bed for the past eighteen months. If things were different she would probably make their union formal, but Richard wanted a family, something that Yori could not give him. The premature birth of Hirotaka's stillborn child took away that future from her.

However, she was willing to be Richard's _second wife_. Richard did not judge her even when she confessed her inadequacies to him on that fateful drunken night when the pair crossed that line from friends into lovers. He still stood by her. He even caught a bullet for her, at least he would of ... if the bullet resistant vest did not do its job. But he at least got a bruise for her.

Looking up at her lover, her eyes took in the two pucker mark wounds and the traditional Japanese tattooing that decorated his body. Although it had be four years since Richard last worked undercover for the FBI penetrating the Los Angeles chapter of the American Yakuza, Richard hanged unto the tattoo as a reminder of his days as _Kobun_ Yamaguchi of the _Yamaguchi-giri._

On his upper torso, there was a black wave with golden specks and foam about to crash on a rocky shore guarded by a dragon. The tsunami wave was six stories told and about to sweep all in its path, however the dragon was resolute to carry out its duties.

Richard was like that dragon. He may moan, but when things went wrong, Richard would step up and stick things out. In a way, Richard was an Asian-American version of Ron Stoppable.

Richard staggered into the shower.

Two minutes later, Yoro slipped out of her gear and joined him.

Forty-five minutes later, everyone was assembled in the small flat that served as the nucleus of the surveillance effort on tonight's prey. There were forty five agents and other law enforcement types and the room had the feel of a cram the pledges into a telephone booth during rush week.

Senior Agent Richard Yamaguchi was all business laying out the intelligence and floor plans he could acquire. Unfortunately, whoever remodeled this building turned it into a fortification with multiple kill zones. He did not want to have a raid here, but Richard was overruled by William Stu.

Although the pair routinely underwent refresher tactical operations training, they were intelligence types, not the ex-special operations gorillas that were sent to the Special Tasks Teams. However, tonight, they were going in with the teams.

_Someone has to be able to point read the signs point the directions to the men's rooms and translate the _hentai_ comic books for the Neanderthals._

Richard and Yori rode the van to the assembly point. Everyone double checked their gear. To avoid spooking the target, everyone was assembling at a site near a meth/red crystal lab that the local police were going to raid tonight.

Hopefully, the bad guys will think that all the police would be involved with lab raid and relax their guard.

Yori double checked her weapons and tactical gear.

Tonight everyone was issued with Heckler and Koch UMP-40's and GLOCK 22 pistols loaded with .40 S&W 180-grain Federal Hydrashok jacketed hollow point rounds. In Japan, 9mm Parabellums got the job done, but in America, police turned to the .40 S&W for its superior stopping power, especially with suspects who were flying really high without the use of aircraft. The 2x32mm Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight, or ACOG, was securely attached to the manufacturer's NATO STANAG picatinny rail and the Surefire Tactical light was ready to blind the opposition into submission. The Blackhawk Industries assault vest and PASAT Kevlar helmet were there to stop the bullets.

_It's good, but not good enough. Ron was wearing one of these when he was killed. All it takes is one to the face._

Yori and Richard would be Assaulter 4 and 5 attached to entry team Joker. Joker One was the team leader, Joker Two was the scout, Joker Three was the rear guard, and Joker Six was the mean SOB with a GO-Bar and enough det-sheet to blow up every door in an apartment complex. Team Joker had one mission – Hit the meeting room from the door near the southeast corner, secure the target, and let Yori and Richard start collecting intelligence.

It was time to saddle up. The informant signaled that the meeting was in progress. There were two criminal organizations, both with a legion of heavily armed thugs armed with Ruger Mini-30's,illegally modified AR-15's,and Benelli M1 Super 90 shotguns. They too invested in Kevlar.

Yori wanted to call off the operation, but the hire ups wanted to continue.

The van rammed the gate on cue and the team rapidly exited the vehicle. Joker six smashed the door with the spiked end of the Go-Bar and with a grunt popped open the first door before he fell to the ground. The other Jokers opened up. Yori killed her first man. He was young, not even old enough to vote, but she saw the muzzle flash and took the shot.

Instinctively, Yori followed Richard as Team Joker cleared its area of responsibility. Twice more she had to pull the trigger and kill another human being. It was exactly like training. The brain did not think, but reflexively reacted to stimuli.

However, near the meeting room something happened that nothing could ever prepare Yori for. The corridor outside the meeting room was filled with dead or dying law enforcement officers. All were killed, not with a bullet, but were neatly decapitated with a sword. Only the traditional Japanese Yakuza would consider using a sword against their opponents.

Yori dropped her Heckler & Koch UMP-45 submachine gun letting it fall to the end of its sling. She withdrew her GLOCK 22 out of the holster with her left hand and withdrew her ASP expandable baton with her right. With a flick of her wrist, the baton extended to its full twenty-inch length.

Instinctively Yori ducked and rolled forward, the blade of her opponent just missed its mark. There was the sound of gunfire and a laugh.

The laugh was all too familiar.

Rolling to a standing position, her sight confirmed her suspicions. It was the last face that she ever wanted to see. It was the man who spirit she broke with a careless whisper all those years ago.

Richard was emptying his magazine at the sword wielding _oyabun_ as Yori looked on in shock.

The _oyabun_ walked up and hit Richard with the flat of his blade knocking him out.

"I would have given him a slow death and a fast trip to hell."

The _oyabun_ turned around a faced the young ninja.

"Consider your lovers life a present from me, bitch. He won't ever have to risk his life to save an ungrateful _bitch_ name Yori Suzuki. You were a slut. You loved that Ron Stoppable guy and you fucked the two of use. I see that you chose your stud service well. Too bad for you that fate ensured that you lost our child. The ones who gave me this godlike power ensure that I knew. One more thing to break me. They sought to use me. I let them until I was in position to use them."

He flickered the blade of the sword flinging the blood and exposing the steel to its next victim.

"You have yourself to thank for me being here. You made me a monster. You freed me from the rules that make us conform and hide our true feelings. You made me a god. At least you started me on the path. I can not be killed. Not even I can end my existence. However, I have a message for the old man. In due time, all will bow to the new god. I have to hurt the both of you now. It's for your own good. I wanted to hurt you. I practiced and carve out the last bit of humanity out of my own soul. I have devoured the souls of the innocent because of you. However, some part of me demands that I let you live. Maybe it's so I can break your spirit, maybe it's a lingering weakness. However I must obey the voices in my soul."

Yori was paralyzed with guilt and fear as Hirotaka slashed Richard's Achilles tendon. She wanted to fight but something stopped her from killing her former friend and lover. She waited for him to hurt her, she wanted him to end her sorry state of existence.

Hirotaka walked up calmly and removed her pistol and baton. With a flick of the sword, Yori's right hand was no longer a part of her body. He then merely walked away and Yori fell into darkness.


	27. Animology Revisited

**Moving On**

**Animology Revisited**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

Sorry I have been incommunicado for the longest time,

I have an excuse.

However, excuses...

Everyone has them...

So I won't bored you with mine,

If you don't bore me with yours.

* * *

Please review,

My muse is suffering a withdrawal,

She needs more reviews otherwise

She will up and leave.

Please review so my muse will stay with me!

* * *

Yori Suzuki woke up in the intensive care unit.

Her right hand felt like it was getting crushed, dipped in 16-molarity sulfuric acid, and having railroad spikes being driven through every bone in her palm.

Looking over at the bandaged stump, she knew that the pain was a construct of her mind. However, despite all the painkillers and training, the pain was unbearable.

However the phantom pain of her missing right hand had nothing compared to the taste of failure. She was alive, but the others were not.

"Stop it, Yori-kun," the voice from the other bed commanded. "There was nothing that you could have done. Without you to trip what remained of that thing's conscience, I would be dead. Thanks."

It was Richard Yamaguchi, her partner in the field and her lover.

Yori looked over.

The side of Richard's face and his entire body was covered in bandages with only little peeks of his tattoos exposed. He sat up, leaned over, grabbed the railing of her bed and with all his strength started pulling the beds together.

"You will hurt yourself."

"He got me in the legs, not the arms." Richard grunted. "Even tossed in one of those Prussian dueling scars as a party favor, the nurses told me that it would only make me more irresistible to the fairer sex. The docs did their thing. I won't be running marathons or even taking long walks, but I won't be in a wheelchair, or at least after a couple months, either. Enough 'bout me. You were hurt bad."

Yori looked into the eyes of the man she loved these past four years. Despite the light tone, she could see the look of fear in Richard's eyes.

"Richard, I...I sorry. You were...It was my duty to protect you. Hirotaka, the man who cut you, he was a cop...he was a ninja...he was the one I told you about. I broke his heart and he became that twisted thing. It's all my fault."

Richard had pulled the beds together and hugged Yori letting her cry.

"I don't care if he was the shogun, the emperor, even the devil himself – It's not your fault. He was the one who made his decision. You did not brainwash him. You did not force him to become the thing he is. He made his choice. It's not your fault."

Yori knew that the drugs reduced her control over her demeanor. She cringed inside as she snapped out, "How the hell would you know?"

"Yori, I too once had a friend, a mentor, who betrayed my trust. He was responsible for compromising my identity as an FBI agent to the Yamaguchi-giri. I was lucky to survive let alone not get shot. The three other agents working with me were not as lucky. They were killed by a car bomb that was intended for me.

"I blamed myself for not noticing the clues. He was disappearing more and more often, telling us the he was working on a skittish rat. His information was too good. We were raking in the low level and a few mid level yakuza, but the high valued targets started drying up. He was suddenly living life up. There all the signs, but I did not...notice was not the right word...I did not want to believe the truth that the world was screaming in my face. Because of my self-induced blindness, I let my friends die. I could have told my superiors about the sudden behavior change that my mentor had. They would have investigated and found out and three lives would have been saved. After the operation was closed up, I lost it and when on a three day binge."

Richard suppressed a sob.

"I was reassigned to a desk in Mississippi. I threw myself into work so I would not have to deal with the loss. There was a kidnapping...a little eight year old boy was kidnapped at the bus stop by a middle-aged, white male driving a van. We drop everything for a kidnapping, especially if it's a child. The local police department was running through the sex offender lists. I was going through all the other registered owners of light colored vans."

Richard paused for a moment and removed the oxygen tube from under his nose.

"I found the little boy, but it was too late. The kidnapper did the entire number. He had raped the child and in the process of doing so killed him. The boy was dead. I did not bother calling in for back up. I stopped being an FBI agent and became a vigilante. I found the son-of-a-bitch eating a sandwich naked fondling his bloody thing.

"When they are caught, they never put up a fight. Pedophiles rarely confront adults, especially law enforcement. He wanted to surrender, but I told him to pick up the knife. He did not so I shot him in the gut so that he knew that I was not taking him in alive. He picked up the knife. Instantly, I put two rounds into his chest and one more into his head. It went down in the books as an incident that quote "Unfortunately the fluid tactical situation and the threat the suspect, later identified as Henry Marcus Wheeler of Montgomery, Alabama, posed to the community required Agent Yamaguchi to use lethal force in self-defense" unquote.

"I deliberately, cold-blood killed a man and got a promotion out of it."

Richard shook his head in disgust.

"My bosses gave me good reviews for running down a sadistic pedophile and capping a pedophile-rapist-murder helped me become an FBI Special Agent. However, I lived a lie. Everyone thought of me as the ideal agent. Brave, courageous, a gun fighter, and an excellent investigator - However, when I was not on call or on the clock, I found myself spiraling to self-destruction. I experimented with drugs and regularly did business with hookers. I was physical out in the field breaking the law to get results. I took crooks off the streets, not by any great investigative technique, but by simply being a crook myself and threatening to out a hood as a rat if they did not rat out their buddies to me.

"A part of me wanted to confess my failures, to rid myself of my guilt of not living up to the standards my friends died to protect. I had nightmares about having to answer to them why I broke my oath to uphold the law. However, to do so would destroy the faith of the young agents who all looked up to me as an example of what the Bureau expects from its agents. I was their role model as the man who betrayed me use to be my role model.

"I could not remain without contaminating them, dragging them down with me. I turned down a spot on the FBI Hostage Rescue Team so I could be transferred to Global Justice as a liaison. I figured that being an intelligence analyst would allow me save others without the temptation of going off the reservation. There I believed that I could make good on the debt I owed my friends. They died because of me so I could save others. I could not even save myself.

"You were the one who saved my soul, Yori. It was because of you, I had reason to face my life again. I guess that it's over. You will go back to Japan and I will figure something out."

Yori hugged Richard. He did what he had to do. He did what any self-respecting Japanese cops did – deliver justice. She cursed America and it's schizoid laws.

"Richard-chan, things are not over. You did the best you could with the hand that fate dealt you. We can't change the past, just live in the present. I failed you...Hirotaka was a ninja. I was the only one who could defeat him, but I did not fight him."

"Ninja. They are myths."

Yori shook her head. She was going to break an ancient rule.

"I'm from Iga. There have been and always will be ninja in Iga. I am one as my family was. Instead of assassinating and spying on samurai warlords, today we all end up as cops. Hirotaka's family and my family were close. His father was my sensei as my great-grandfather was the sensei of my sensei. A Yamanouchi trains a Suzuki and the Suzuki trains a Yamanouchi. As I was the last of the Suzuki and Hirotaka was the last of the Yamanouchi line, it was expected that we would marry in due course and unite the lines.

"Unfortunately, I fell in love with a _gaijin_. Ron Stoppable was in love with another, but I did not care. I tried...I even ambushed him in bed and offered my virtue to him, but he was loyal to her. The year after I last saw him, he was killed. He was a deputy US Marshal killed when Drakken escaped captivity. Hirotaka comforted me in my grief. I grew to love Hirotaka and gave myself to him. I believed that I loved Hirotaka and yet in lovemaking, it was Ron that I imagine taking me. In the moment of pleasure, I called out Ron's name. Hirotaka forgave me and I was careful to not let myself get lost in pleasure again, but the damage was done. I broke his spirit. He was a police officer as I was as everyone of our families were since the Menji Restoration. He was tasked with infiltrating the Yakuza and tracing the narcotic movements between the yakuza and the North Koreans. He disappeared. Three months later, we found a chuck of his arm and more than enough of his blood for him to die twice over. We found the tools that they used to torture and butcher him. We all believed that he died doing his duty.

"When I found out, I fell injuring myself. I lost our child and my ability to have another. To forget my shame, I threw myself into my work and my training. Hirotaka and I were the last of our families...the last upholders of an ancient tradition. Save for my sensei, I am the last. Hirotaka has perverted the traditions. He had sold his soul and sword for wealth. Instead of protecting others, he now enriches himself off the misery of others. It's was my duty to stop him...to prevent him from using our skills to hurt the innocent. I failed. The ninja don't commit _seppuku_. We endure, but now I have to watch helplessly as he destroys the lives of hundreds and thousands of innocent souls.

"I can't stop him. All I have left is my final duty. I have to return to Japan once more and tell my sensei that his only son has become a monster. My sensei is old. He was old when Hirotaka and I were children. Now it's up to him to figure out how to defeat and kill his own flesh. In doing so, I will condemn sensei to a futile death. And yet, I must do so."

Yori wondered what tomorrow would bring. She had broken the rules that kept her family safe for countless generations. She had revealed the secret of Yamanouchi to an outsider. In the old days, the clan would have hunted down and killed the both of them to ensure that the secret was kept. Today, there was no hope for the clan. Yes, there was a school. Yes, there were a few followers of the old ways. Nevertheless, there was no one else to succeed Master Sensei. Yori merely held unto Richard. She wanted to wake up and pretend that everything would be okay. But nothing would ever be okay again.

* * *

Dr. Betty Director walked into her office. Inside was an older Asian gentleman waiting with two cups of tea.

"Who are you?" she asked. Her assistant did not inform her that anyone was waiting in her office.

The old man smiled.

"I am Police Inspector Izu Akira, retired now. You called me yesterday about my niece, Suzuki Yori. How soon can I see her?"

Dr. Betty Director examined the old man.

"I need to see some identification, first."

The old man handed over an envelope. She opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper. One was in English, the other in Japanese.

_From the Desk of_

_Police Superintendent Aoikama Jiro_

_Dear Doctor Director,_

_This man is retired Police Inspector Izu Akira and my senpai, my mentor, when I was a brash youth. He is my representative and speaks with my authority. He is one of the few that I would trust with this assignment. Yori Suzuki is his niece, more like his daughter. Yori's great-grandfather was Izu's senpai as Izu was my senpai. These ties are deeper than blood._

_He knows well the man responsible for the deaths of your agents. It is hard for any man to turn against one he once loved as a son, but Izu Akira is a man of honor. Yamanouchi Hirotaka was once an undercover officer sent to penetrate the narcotics trade between the North Koreans and criminal elements within Japan. He was one of the best and we were saddened when we found evidence believing that he was killed in performing his duty. We are even more saddened by news of his betrayal of the oaths we all swear when we put on the badge. He has shamed us and we will do everything possible to end the threat the Yamanouchi Hirotaka poses._

_Izu Akira trained Yamanouchi Hirotaka like he once trained me when I entered the police force. We all called Izu-san, Master-sensei and curse him behind his back as recruits. Now we are honored to be his students and pass down the lessons he taught us to another generation. Master-sensei knows Yamanouchi Hirotaka's weaknesses and strengths. If he advises you to do something, please listen carefully before you dismiss his ideas. He knows your quarry and is committed to right the wrongs committed._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Jiro_

_PS: Next time you are in Japan, we got to go out and hit all the karaoke bars and do the sake crawl._

Dr. Director read the letter. Jiro Aoikama was perhaps one of the best law enforcement officers on the planet. Although, Dr. Director did not agree with all the tactics used by the Japanese police, she respected Aoikama's dedication to duty. The only thing she did not like was hitting every karaoke bar in town since you had to drink two drinks in every bar and endure the morning hangover.

"Aoikama's speaks highly of you Inspector. He regards you as a mentor."

"Please call me Akira, Dr. Director. I only repaid the kindness his father shown me in my own irresponsible youth. May I ask how my niece is doing?"

"She lost a lot of blood. The suspect, Yamanouchi, severed her right hand at the wrist with a sword. The doctors could not save the hand. She is heavily medicated at the moment."

"What about this agent of yours, Richard Yamaguchi?"

"He was injured. He..."

The old man held up his hand.

"I apologize. I know that Yori and Richard have feelings for one another. Her emails describe some virtuous samurai – no man, not even the son of God himself can be that perfect. I want to know about the man who holds my niece's heart in his hands."

"I can get his file."

The old man shook his head.

"What animal do you think of when I mention his name?"

"A dog - Bulldog."

"Thank you. You have told me what I needed to know."

Doctor Director shook her head in confusion.

"I learn this trick from an American doctor when I was a nine year-old child. The American occupied our nation at the end of the war and their military doctors came around to my village to give us vaccines so epidemics did not spread while we were rebuilding Japan from the ashes and rubble. Unlike the others, this doctor spoke some Japanese. He asked up to close our eyes and tell him what animal did we see when we thought of ourselves. By the time we opened our eyes and told him what animal we imagine ourselves to be, he would be finished with the shots. I asked him why he did that. He told me that the image tells him what kind of person one is.

"When you told me that Richard brought forth the image of a bulldog, you told me more about him in a single word that if we spend hours pouring over his file or talking to Yori. When I was a young cop manning a neighborhood substation and collecting data on everyone in my assigned neighborhood, I would ask the kids this question about themselves and their family members. It was a frightfully accurate predictor of behavior and personality. When I was too old for the field and assigned to interview prospective police officers and those seeking promotion, this became my make or break question when I interviewed the references. If you are wondering, Aoikama-san called himself a butterfly."

"What?" Dr. Director could not imagine a man calling himself a butterfly.

"Jiro-san still can't sit down and focus on one thing. Every time he can get away, he goes out and hits all the karaoke bars and ends up doing the sake crawl since he can't stand sitting still in one place. That why Aoikama-san always seems to be traveling from region to region doing surprise inspections since being stuck in an office with a stack of paperwork is his version of hell."

Within half an hour, Dr. Director was seen laughing as a man escorted her to a car that somehow entered the highly restrictive underground parking area without being stopped.

* * *

Kim Possible hit the answer button on her phone just as a wraped version of Mozart's 40th symphony played.

"Possible speaking."

The voice was familiar. It was Dr. Roberta Sanchez, Violetta Lee's foster mother.

"Kim, I got a death in the family. I can't get in contact with the social worker agency to get a written okay for Violetta to come with me overseas. Lori is in DC on the MID-investigation and I don't know when she can return."

Kim knew about the details MID (Monster in the Dark) from her fellow prosecutors. She did not want to be assigned to that case whenever the authorities arrested the killer. She had prosecuted her share of sex-offenders and even though they were locked up, there was no justice. An innocence life was destroyed more utterly than just putting a pistol to the back of someone's head and pulling the trigger. It was worst than murder, for in murder, the victim no longer suffers. With sex-crimes, the victims suffered everyday.

"No prob, Berta. May I ask who?"

"My lola...grandmother. Ninety-three, just did not wake up from a nap. I got to go to the Philippines. She was visiting one of my aunts over there when it happened.

"I will be gone for a week, maybe two weeks tops. Violetta is at school right now so I will just pass the message to Sister Bernadine for Violetta to just head over to your place with Ronnie after school. Thanks, you have the copy of my house key. Violetta keeps a spare dose of her medications just in case. Otherwise, I keep a week's supply in my office safe. I will text the combination over to you. Violetta know how to prepare the medication. Should there any problems, call Doctor Teller. She can talk you through the procedure. Just don't let anyone else breathe in the contents of the inhaler and give Violetta half an hour of privacy in the bathroom afterwards."

"What?"

"It makes her lose muscle control. Violetta doesn't not like letting anyone see her when she is as weak as a newborn. She is scheduled for two doses a day - Six in morning and six at night. That gives you a four hour cushion, but the meds work best if given on schedule. This is very important, she doesn't not want Ronnie to find out what the meds do to her. She tells him that it's for her lungs. Don't worry, should anything happen, just call Dr. Teller and she will talk you through it. I got to race to the airport. I have a copy of everything you might need in the safe. The emergency numbers are in my black contact book by my computer. Look under Ate Diane, that's where I will be staying. I will text you with number when I arrive just in case it changes. Bye"

Kim hit the end button on her phone. Unlike Ronnie, Violetta was not messy. She made a mental note to pick up some pizzas from Smarty Mart on the way home. Ronnie love Nacos, but Kim could not bring herself to enter a Bueno Nacho – Too many memories of Ron Stoppable. Even the drive through gave her the creeps.

Kim left work early to pick up the kids from school so she could shop Smarty Mart before the after-work rush. Violetta and Ron were about to leave when they spotted the familiar dented minivan.

"Mom, Vee and I can walk four and a half blocks without getting lost. Why do you insist on embarrassing me in front of the school? Anything is Possible for Mrs. Possible expect for cooking and driving with adding a new dent to the car."

Kim remembered being embarrassed by the 'rents. Now it was her turn to embarrass her son. She grabbed him and planted a motherly kiss on his forehead. For now, she was taller, but soon he would be taller than her.

Ronnie turned red in the face.

"How cute. Ronnie, I got the photo of Tita P kissing you. If you don't get me that thing you promised me, I will put the photo on the ska...school website."

Years of speech therapy have gotten Violetta over the worst of her stutters, but she still had problems with words beginning with S, or when she was really excited.

"What thing?" Kim asked.

"_Ixnay onnay alktay rontfay othermay!_"

Violetta shook her head and smiled, "Very original. Just about everyone over the age of eight understands pig Latin. I wished I recorded that moment. Ten dumb things that boys do in front of their parents."

"And how would use do better?"

"Keep my mouth sha...hut."

Kim Possible decided to pull out the guns, the puppy dog pout.

"Tell this old lady what thing you promised to get Violetta."

Violetta laughed, but Ronnie only shook his head.

"No, mi...misses P, like this."

Kim Possible was devastated. Violetta actually cried on cue, tossed in the lip quivering, and put on a performance that shamed her pout. Throw in Violetta's natural stutter and no male could refuse. Kim Possible had just witnesses the ultimate evolution of the pout.

"Stop it, Vee. If mom allows us, I will swing by the candy shop and get you the mega jaw breaker."

"Cruel. You're totally unusually cruel, Pee. I give you dibs on the party favors."

"Scarf's up, sap."

It was like the child started speaking in an extraterrestrial language.

"Earth to kids, get in the van and please speak English."

Violetta dragged Ron in into the back with her and buckled up.

"Vee, why."

"Cruel is acting normal no matter what and besides if you make a..." Violetta took in a deep breath "...scene everyone will remember you. If you are cruel, they see a mass of white tops and blue pants getting into cars. We are just two more white tops and blue pants in the mass. As long as you don't call attention to yourself, others will forget you in a moment. Sne...Sneaking 101."

Ron opened his lunch pail.

"Any leftovers." He asked.

Violetta looked through her bag.

"Nope...Unless you enjoy the Filipino treat of _balut_. Unopened eggs with baby duck or chickens in Mother Nature's original packaging. Eggs are still warm. It's really cool when the eyes are open and you can taste the feathers and feel them sliding down the throat."

"Yuk. You nuked my appetite."

"I truly can only try. Close your eyes, it tastes great. Especially with a little salt."

Kim rolled down the window. Violetta's enthusiastic description of this _balut_ thing made her queasy. She had not been this queasy since she was carrying Ronnie.

"Abe on three."

"Abe in two and a half."

"On."

Violetta opened her bag and crack the tip of her egg.

"Ron, I will give you something cruel if you finish this."

"How much?"

"Usual stakes."

"Cruel. When you crack it you just crack the top. We don't want the rich fluid to leak all over the car. Takes forever to get rid of the odor once it's in. Take this egg and copy me."

"Which one is this?"

"Chicken. Can't get duck in Middleton...last time I had duck was in 'Diego with Tita Joy. Besides, duck is too greasy for the first time."

"Just crack the top and drink the liquid."

Both kids made slurping noises. Kim closed her eyes imagining her son sucking embryonic fluid.

"Gamey, kind of like blood without the red and the real bad smell."

Violetta's description was really pushing Kim's self control.

"Different," Ronnie replied. "It's slimy but runnier than the time your Tita Berta served claim juice."

Kim was looking for a place to pull over.

Violetta slurped out some more fluid.

Kim was signaling to pull over.

"Now for the treat. Pick up the chick by the head. Its eyes are open. The body will twitch, that's normal, it has not fully died yet. That when they're fresh. It will uncurl with it's little feet hanging down..."

Kim did not bother with the parking brake or even closing the door behind her once she put the vehicle in park. She ran behind the nearest tree and hurled her lunch.

Walking back, she could see the kids high five one-another inside the van. Looking at the eggs, she realized that she had been had. They were ordinary run of the mill hardboiled eggs.

"That's it. No pizza, no going to the candy store. Ronnie, you're grounded for two days, after Dr. Sanchez returns."

"Mom, April Fools."

"It's May. That excuse doesn't work, young man."

_Christ, I'm sounding like dad. Next, I am going to treated launching the pair into a black hole._

"It's Vee's fault."

"My fault. You were the one who pushed me to place Abe on two and a half."

"Children, what the hell is an Abe in two."

Violetta laughed, "Tita Kim, I plea the fifth."

Ronnie looked at his mother, "I plea the fifth too."

Kim wondered what they were teaching in schools today. Violetta was only twelve and she already got Ronnie trained to plea the fifth.

"This is not a court of law. This is mom's court and I make all the rules. You can't plea the fifth."

Ronnie moaned, "Why can't I plead the fifth?"

Kim replied, "Because the fifth does not apply to mother's court. What is an Abe in two"

"George is one dollar, Abe means five dollars, Alex is ten, Jack is twenty, U-lees is fifty, and Ben's a hundred. Two means before two minutes. Abe in two meant that I bet five that Vee can't get a reaction out of you in under two minutes."

Kim knew that she had been played as Monique would say. Only one person managed to play her and that was Zorpox, Ron's inner villain.

"What else have you been betting on, young man."

"Uh...nothing."

Kim spotted the lie. Like his father, Ronnie was a really bad liar, despite all of Violetta's expert prompting.

"If you don't want me to tell the social worker about your gambling habits, tell me what you and Ronnie have been betting on."

"Trading cards, poker, kill ball, clouds, video games, and other games of chance." Violetta reluctantly admitted.

Kim could not believe it. Her son and his pal were gamblers.

"Clouds?"

"Which cloud would cross the sun first?"

"Just how many? Or just show me how much."

Ron reached into his bag and pulled out a wad of fives and singles. There must have been thirty dollars.

"And you, Violetta."

"Ron's the money man. I just play the ditz who shucks the clams."

"You can lose. Gambling is a disease."

"Not really, not if you are the house. The house always wins in the long run. The _vig_, Miss P. As long as we se..se..se..set the _vig_ right, we win. Higher pay just means longer play."

Now the kids were using professional gambling terminology and phrases. Violetta looked innocent, but Kim knew that the girl was a natural when it came to leading her son into trouble. Driven and focus like Kim was save this girl did not have enough to keep her out of trouble. Kim already knew from experience that she had to figure out how to keep the pair busy all week or they would plan another prank. This trick was on the fly. Kim shuddered to think what the pair could come up with if given enough time. Her son and her sons best friend seemed to be channeling the Tweebs.

"Guess what, all that money is going back."

Ron's face turned pale.

"We worked for that money, mom. We just set up a business, just like the lemonade stand and the fortune telling booth. Vee, help me here."

"At V&R, Inc, we sell the best gaming experience in the Tricity area. Miss P., they come knowing that we will keep them happy. Any money they lose is our fee. You don't hate Disneyland because they charge a fee to enter and get you to waste your money on the trinkets and overpriced food. Why hate us for doing the same?"

Kim wondered if she had the future CEO's for Hench Co. ridding in her van. Violetta is already sounding like an attorney/PR director and she had Ronnie dancing to her beat.

"How did you even get the idea?"

"That rich guy on TV show about casinos with the really bad haircut and dye-job, the one that builds all those casinos and hotels. Casinos are legal or they won't be so obvious with all the lights."

Kim shook her head.

"Casinos are legal on Indian reservations, New Jersey, and Nevada. Not on school grounds in Colorado. Also you and your players got to be 21 years old with real id's. That means nine more years. As an officer of the court, I have to report you and your profits to the authorities or you can avoid jail by giving your cash to charity. Jail or charity."

Ronnie looked at his partner in crime.

Violetta answered, "Charity – as long as we get to pick the charity."

"Okay, what charity?"

Kim knew the answer before even asking the question. Violetta was always hitting everyone in the neighborhood to sponsor or donate to a certain charity.

"The one I raise money for every year - National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Since we are raising money, can you help me get matching donors, say yourself and maybe some lawyers in your office."

_At least, I got them off of running a gambling racket before the nuns found out._

"Great idea, Vee. But you are still grounded young man."

Ronnie was going to say something, but Violetta shushed him. Then Kim saw the familiar smiles on both their faces. She had won this battle, but the war was far from over.

Kim knew that the kids were planning some new moral outrage. More than once, Dr. Sanchez and Kim were called to the school because Ronnie and Violetta were scheming. Kim prayed that they would hold up their next scheme long enough for Dr. Sanchez to return home.

* * *

"See, I told you today was going to be a really bad day. I lost all my cash."

Violetta looked at her partner in crime.

"You lost a little cash, okay. It's not like we can't recover from this."

"But it's all our money, Vee."

Violetta wanted to slap her best friend.

_Boys could be so dense sometimes_.

"What did I teach you about hiding stuff? Don't keep one big stash, but a bunch of smaller stashes. I handed you a flash roll, not the entire bankroll just in case we get caught."

"We got more. You're really cruel. Where's the money?"

"Taped inside my book covers, of course - All the Alex's and Jack's. When I get back to my place, I then split it up into five places. You think the nuns would hesitate to confiscate any money they find on us? Course not. They already are waiting for us to go to Junior High and thanking God that we don't have any brothers or shi...sisters to bother them. I keep most of the money hidden. I gave you enough that if we got caught, it would not hurt us that much."

"Then why even have that money. If we can hide all the money..."

Violetta shook her head.

"Ronnie, no one really believes that we are innocent. We got caught too many times and pulled too many pranks. The moms and nuns will keep looking until they find sa...sa...something. We let them find a little cash and let them think they foiled our great plan. They are then really happy and proud of themselves 'cuz they won. Then they st...stop looking for a while and celebrate. But we wanted them to believe they won. Then they st...stop looking for the real dirt. That's when we get to work on our great plan with no interference. I don't know why all the criminal types your parents dealt with have not figured that out."

"How do you know so much?"

"Unlike you, I actually read for fun. When you are in the hospital, there is nothing on daytime television but old TV game-sha...shows, and the food sucks. Being poked and prodded by every person in a white top gets old really fast. I got Tita Berta to get me some books on magic. When I got out, I borrowed a couple more magic books and read up on it. The techniques might be different but the principles work that sa-same for each and every trick. Give them what they expect to see and they won't know you pulled a fast one."

Ronnie hugged his best pal and the same identical look of mischief appeared on their faces.

"Ronnie, do you still have that old model rocket launching kit your uncles gave you for your birthday."

* * *

"Mom, Vee's calling you."

Kim ran up to the restroom.

"Vee, are you alright?" Kim asked.

"No."

"Can I come in?"

There was no reply. Just a Kim was about to ask again, she hear a weak voice sob.

"Don't let Ron see."

Violetta's confident shell was shattered.

"I...I need new..."

Violetta was holding up a pair of panties. There was blood on the crotch.

"Wait here."

Kim went to her bathroom and looked in her cabinet. All she had were tampons. Her undergarments were too big so the ran into Ronnie's room and looked in his drawers. She found a pair of shorts that were now too small for her son. She ran back and entered the bathroom.

"No big. Just use these."

Violetta looked at the tampons like they were creatures from Mars.

"I...never had to do this before."

_Great, Roberta had to just be out of town when Violetta had her first period._

"Okay, there is a first time for everything. It will feel a little weird, but you will get use to it. I will race to get pads before you get to bed."

"How do I put this in without hurting myself?"

Kim Possible took in a deep breath.

_Anything is Possible for a Possible, Kim. Relax, you don't want to scare her._

"Best time is when you just came out of the shower. Rule one is relax. Rule two, wash your hands before and after."

Kim looked on the naked body of her son's best friend. She had known Violetta since Violetta bit her leg the first day of Pre-K. However, things were changing. Violetta was always small for her age. However, the formerly flat chest was starting to bud and Violetta would need to wear bras pretty soon.

"Open the package."

Kim calmed down Violetta through the procedure, wondering just how much of the facts of life she would have to explain to the girl.

"Remember to change them every three to four hours and don't wear them when you are sleeping. Okay, any questions."

Violetta looked at Kim and asked, "Do I have to buy it in front of Ronnie?"

Kim shook her head, "I buy a box every so often. Tomorrow we go to the store and I will act like we are buying a box for me. Ronnie won't know until you're ready. It's not embarrassing; I do it all the time. Growing up is a celebration. Tomorrow, why don't I take you shopping."

Violetta groaned, "What a waste of time? Tita 'Berta and Lori sha..sha...shop. All they do is pick a blouse up, try it on, put it back, go around, pick it back up, try it on again, and repeat until the clerk tells them that the place is closing. I remember the one time that Tita Lori left her gun in the booth and we had to race back to the st...store. I don't know what...but every time they se...see a discount their brains turn to mush. Then they waste all that time going through all that girly junk like perfumes and nail polish – Just like that jerk, Myra Gonzales, that Ronnie stares at because she got." Violetta hands moved over her chest signifying a bust. "Then they spend a lot of money on junk that is on sa...sale at ...Smarty Mart for 50 off. Thanks, but no thanks. I just need those things."

It was time to save Violetta from the ranks of tomboys. _A girl that hates shopping_, Kim was now on a mission to save Violetta from that obscenity before it became too late.

"What else is bad about this Myra girl?"

"Myra's an idiot. If weren't for the bags, none of the boys would look at her, but because of her bags, the boys all drool. I have to thump Ronnie in the head to get his to pay attention when Myra's nearby. Because of her bags, no one else notices her zits and bad breath."

Kim was spotting jealousy. Violetta felt a proprietary relationship to Ronnie. Ronnie was hers and she hated the fact the he found another girl attractive.

"What else?"

"Ronnie...he ignores me when Myra got those ugly things in his face. Myra this, Myra that. He even asked he how to get Myra to like him. Myra could care less that Ronnie exists. Myra's top table. Myra calls Ronnie my little puppy. I hope her bags are popped with an ice-pick sha-so that everyone can see...see just how ugly Myra really is."

"Don't worry. You will get some and Ronnie will still be your pal."

"Are you right, Misses Pee? I'm so flat that everyone calls me Olive Oil. All the girls have a chest and I barely have two bumps."

Kim smiled, "The girls with the big bumps will be the first to get fat when you are older."

"You mean they get to be lard butts like the nuns? Totally cruel - Just how long do I have to wait before they get fat like you and my _titas_?"

Kim Possible suppressed the urge to strangle Violetta for calling her fat. Kim exercised to keep her figure. While it was not the same as it was while she was a cheerleader, she had an excellent figure for someone her age.

What scared Kim Possible the most was the fact that Violetta was already selecting Ronnie to be her future boyfriend. While Violetta was too young to consciously realize that she had already selected her future boyfriend, but Kim knew that her son did not stand a chance of evading the trap that Violetta would set out in a couple years. Kim remembered just how fast she and Ron Stoppable were doing the mattress mambo once they left home. Kim made a mental note to have a serious talk with Roberta when she returned. She made another mental note to have Wade chip her son like she once has Ronnie's father chipped.

* * *

_**Warning**: Sick Section. If your stomach is delicate, skip._

He had lost another one.

This one's name was Christina. She would forever be ten years old. Her long dark hair and fair skin reminded him of the first of his soul liberators. None of the other's survives a week, not like the first.

He missed the one called Susan Lee. She was special. She did not break like the other. She did not curl up into a little ball and died. However, the who gave me his quest had taken his precious one away from her.

Susan Lee's belly was full with his brat and the necromancer took the killer's future away. He was the best, the culmination of a thousand year old blood line. The one called Yori was weak and lost his child. The one called Susan Lee was strong even in her weakened state. The child would have been so perfect.

He closed his eyes. The child would be just like her mother. The master could then take her and sate his lusts and urges. He would never have to try to sate his needs with an inferior creature.

He opened his eyes.

The one that was once Christina was still warm. He would sate his needs once more before finding another. He knew that the next would end up like Christina, like Carry, like Crystal, like ninety others before her. He would not stop until he found the perfect one. He wanted one like Susan Lee. He wanted someone who could play the pleasure games. He wanted that that he can truly break.

The other's died too soon. Yes, they whimpered and cried when he took them. Yes, he took a part of their spirits. However, they could not come back for more and more of his pleasure-pain. When one realizes that death is denied them, only then can a spirit be truly broken. The others begged for death and death saved them.

He thrust himself into the one that was once Christina. However, her muscles were flaccid with death. She was a failure like the others were failures. Soon, he vowed...Soon he would find the Chosen One that one that would forever be his broken doll.

He was done in due time. He placed the body of another failure in a bag. It was time to shop for another one.

The man walked out of the underground room and to a shower. He locked up the beast into its cage in his soul. Now he had business to handle. He had to deal with the fallout from the meeting. Killing the agents would only double the authorities' efforts to hunt him down and have him strapped to a chair where some government employed monkey would flip a switch and pass a high voltage current through his body.

He toweled himself off.

It was time to call the necromancer.

He opened his cell phone and selected a phone number from his contacts list.

"Lizst-san, this is Kenji. Oh...Bonnie-san, can you or your boss meet me this weekend at the racetrack...Sunday, seventh race...Business or pleasure...A little bit of both..._ja mata, sayonara._"

The one called Bonnie did not like him; that he was sure of. If she knew what he did for the necromancer, she would hate him. She did not recognize him, but he could never forget the girl that took his virginity. She was a good little slut and taught him his first lessons in pleasure and pain. She was well trained, but she was not even Asian, let alone Japanese, so he could not take her back. However, she guided him to the first awakening. Thus she had a place in his shrine. Only three had earned places in his shrine...Bonnie Rockwaller...Yori Suzuki...Susan Lee.

Tonight, he would import some merchandise from Southeast Asia. He would select one, but they too would not last long. None of his toys lasted long.

He missed Susan Lee. She allowed him to explore all his fantasies. No matter what he did, she would be there the next morning. He would find a new soul liberator in due time. He would find one like one the necromancer gave to him in honor of his becoming. All the ones after that would then no longer bother him.

He remembered the taste of her flesh, the whimpering sounds she made. His dragon was rampant with the warm rush of blood. He would dispose of the failure and select a new trainee. Taking...personally training two soul liberators would be a new experience. These he would let live so they would form the bonds of attachment before he would use those bonds to shatter their souls. He would select other from the shipment to tide him over before he would work on the pair.

Maybe one of them would be the chosen one. The soul of Susan Lee would have to reincarnate soon and he intended to consume it as she consumed his soul.

"Susan, you can't run from me forever. I will just have to find you and take you just like the animals we truly are."


	28. Irish Catholic Conscience I

**Moving On**

**An Irish Catholic Conscience**

**By Pat Squared**

**

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I want you...to review!

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Slumber sweet, my fairest baby,

Slumber calmly, sleep--

Peaceful moonbeams light thy chamber,

In thy cradle creep;

I will tell to thee a story,

Pure as dewdrop glow,

Close those two beloved eyelids--

Lullaby, By-low!

List! The Terek o'er its pebbles

Blusters through the vale,

On its shores the little Khirgez

Whets his murdrous blade;

Yet thy father grey in battle--

Guards thee, child of woe,

Safely rest thee in thy cradle,

Lullaby, By-low!

Grievous times will sure befall thee,

Danger, slaughterous fire--

Thou shalt on a charger gallop,

Curbing at desire;

And a saddle girth all silken

Sadly I will sew,

Slumber now my wide-eyed darling,

Lullaby, By-low!

When I see thee, my own Being,

As a Cossack true,

Must I only convoy give thee--

"Mother dear, adieu!"

Nightly in the empty chamber

Blinding tears will flow,

Sleep my angel, sweetest dear one,

Lullaby, By-low!

Thy return I'll wait lamenting

As the days go by,

Ardent for thee praying,--fearing

In the cards to spy.

I shall fancy thou wilt suffer,

As a stranger grow--

Sleep while yet thou nought regrettest,

Lullaby, By-low!

I will send a holy image

'Gainst the foe with thee,

To it kneeling, dearest Being,

Pray with piety!

Think of me in bloody battle,

Dearest child of woe,

Slumber soft within thy cradle,

Lullaby, By-low!

The street beggar staggered down the street signing the old Lermontoff Cossack lullaby off-key. His melody drew glares as there was little love lost between the Cossacks and ethnic Russians. For generations the Russian royalty used the Cossacks to keep the peasants in line. Even now, the new government deliberately recruited young Cossacks to serve as contract soldiers. The one still left in the countryside were expert hunters and tough enough to fight in conditions that would kill the typical Muscovite.

However, no one would suspect that the old, alcoholic drunk wandering the streets of Saint Petersburg was anything else but.

Wade had hit a dead end. Drakken paid thirty million US dollars to the crew that spring him for custody. Some of the money came from a Russian banking house. However, the Russian's did not put all their transactions into the servers. Some accounts, the most secretive of accounts used paper ledgers with the funds moving from a general account. Often the best defense against a high tech intrusion was not the latest firewall, but going low tech. Now it was up to Tim Possible to get inside to photograph the ledgers.

Armed only with a disguise, a few lock picks, a couple modified cameras, a suppressed .22 Walther PPK-knockoff, and a 1970's Cold War Era Minox C loaded with ASA 25 film, Tim Possible was on the hunt for the most dangerous of prey...two legged prey.

He sat under the tree begging for rubbles as his eyes recorded the little tell tales of security devices. Some were crude and expected. Others were more devious. He had staked out this bank for one week learning the habits of the security personnel and local police.

"Move on Cossack."

Tim staggered off.

Everyone here knew him as Cossack. Posing as a veteran of the campaigns in Chechnya, everyone let the drunk have a little space. Lots of Cossacks served in the Russian Special Forces and veterans were rumored to snap off the head of their enemies with their bare hands. Between the reputation as a Cossack and former veteran, no cop would be willing to tussle with the old drunk. Tim was trained by several former special operation types during his association with Global Justice. The American might have had the most intelligence, but the Russian's recruited the hardest. From Victor Ivanovich, formerly of the GRU, Tim had learned the Russian combat art of Sambo.

He thanked the police officers, offered them a swig of his vodka (which they actually refused), and make his way to a bicycle he stashed. He pedaled off to the safe house five kilometers away.

Inside, he attached his video camera to the computer. He recorded his observations and factored in many things, some of which he could not describe. Tim had learned that logic was not the only way to find the truth.

Tonight would be the night. At night the police were harder. They would search him if they caught him. He would have to be careful. He needed his pistol. He would do a hit on one of the bank officers, Gregory Alexovich Kerensky. This guy had connections with the Russian mob and wacking such a man would make everyone believe at first that this was a Russian mob deal.

Tim had gotten use to the killing. He had killed and tortured dozens to get to this point. One more filthy soul would not damn him anymore for he was already damned. He would leave the pistol behind. The pros always did in America. With the Russian mob filled with ex-KGB and ex-Russian Security Service types, a professional style hit was more common here in the land of alcoholic, suicidal poets than back in America.

Tim both liked and loath Russia. It was like Colorado with the perfect counter touch of corruption that allowed one like him to do his business. Some men when to Tahiti for vacation. Tim went to Russia and the other shit holes of the world to sort the locals out.

Tim knew that something was wrong with him. He enjoyed converting a man's head into a mist of grey bone and pink brains. A part of him enjoyed hearing the screams and pleas for mercy before he pulled the trigger. He had not fallen far enough to totally shed his Irish Catholic conscience, but enough for his conscience to slow down. He got to enjoy the rush of the hit and then have the Irish Catholic guilt come and smack him around later.

Then he would drown his troubles either Irish style or Russian style. A piña colada or a martini were not the type of drinks one drank to forget his misdeeds.

Jim was off at grandpa's old cabin with his lover, Danny Flagg. Tim wondered what the old man would think of the way Jim now swang. Grandpa was a conservative who bemoaned that the Democratic Party fell after the death of Kennedy. Grandpa actually kept an arsenal of Garands, BAR's, and M1 Carbines in case the Soviet's came considering it to be his civic duty to be ready. Grandpa hated commies. After serving as an officer Korea and Viet Nam, who would not.

His mother was well meaning. His father was too caught up in building rockets. His sister was too busy raising her child. Tim was alone, trapped in a knifefight with his conscience and he was left alone to bleed.

One day he knew the hunt would be over. His reason for being would cease to be. Then he would end it all and go on his own one way trip to hell. It was not a matter of if, but when.


	29. Irish Catholic Conscience II

**Moving On**

**An Irish Catholic Conscience II**

**By Pat Squared

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It was time to act.

Tim Possible instantly awoke ready to add a little more heat to the fires that he planned to enjoy in hell. He had prepared his gear for the task. A basic ensemble of black sans pearls he was ready to consume another life in his quest.

Tim drew his local knockoff of a suppressed Walther PPK .22LR pistol. It's steel wool sound suppressor would only be good for two or three shots, but Tim had carefully selected some German made subsonic frangible ammunition. It was crude, but it was crude in a beautiful kind of way...a way that only an experience cleaner like Tim Possible could appreciate. The prewar-German workmanship was flawless. Tim's locally fabricated copy was just every bit as accurate as it's Teutonic ancestor. Tim tested the rig without the silencer and he could consistently place the bullet in the brainstem at twenty one feet. He personally worked over the trigger group to release the hammer cleanly. Tonight, it would be more like twenty one millimeters between the muzzle of the sound suppressor and the base of his targets skull.

Everything was in position. He would never come back to this room. He formatted the computer hard disk drive with a utility that Wade developed. It not only cleaned everything out, but left a little virus to destroy any computer that attempts to scope out the hard drive. As for the rest, an incendiary device would ensure that the room would be denuded of any biological evidence of his passing. Tim had scrubbed down the walls and fixtures.

The Cossack would be just another ghost story whispered about by Russian mob hit men and bodyguards. The perfect assassin would strike. The ledgers would be intact, the bearer bonds inside the safe would disappear, and be sold to a fence that Tim hated. The fence would be shook down, but the fence did not know anything except for the figure was an Irishman with a Belfast accent. Slowly the money would be laundered allowing Tim to keep pursuing his quarry.

Despite it being spring, Russian nights were as cold as Stalin's soul. However, Tim was sweating. He followed just behind a pair of Russian policemen. They were smoking.

_Don't you know that smoking is bad for your health? Trust me I know, I actually read the warnings labels every time I light up._

However, Tim would let the harsh chemicals in the cigarettes claim the two policemen in their own time. As for him, Tim did not plan on living long enough to get emphysema. In England, he picked up a carton of Death cigarettes. He brought it home and gave it to his mother as a joke. He liked the brand. It delivered what it promised. Too bad it did not work fast enough.

As expected the two policemen made a left at a certain intersection and Tim ducked right into an alley. It would be half a block to the bank, but Tim did not plan on walking up to the front doors and going to the tellers to make a midnight withdrawal.

The rear of the bank held the executive offices. The well guarded basement held the well guarded servers. Security was typically Russian...submachine guns wielded by idiots. Tim made his way to a storage closet. There the guards had spare uniforms and he liberated one of them. The uniform fit in the typical Soviet way, but uniforms in this place were designed by the blind for the midgets. The guards were huddled around an ancient television watch some English Premier League game while Tim Possible liberated an access card. Tim slipped away. The card would not be missed for a couple of hour.

Time walked down the hallways keeping his head down so that the ceiling mounted cameras could not get a good look at his face...at least what was not covered with a cosmetic prosthetic. As usual the mark was in his office on the phone with his New York money man. Tim waited for the call to be over.

"Gregory Alexovich, you have not paid your protection fee this month."

Tim's target looked up and felt Tim's muzzle in the back of his head. He did not feel anything else as Tim pulled the trigger twice. Tim dropped the pistol next to the body on the floor.

Tim opened the safe and withdrew the ledgers he sought. Taking some books and a ruler, Tim prepared a spy's high speed copy station. He angled the lamp to illuminate the lettering and started taking photos of each and every page he could find.

Tim could read Russian, but not rapidly enough to sort out trash from gold in the short time before Gregory would be missed. One by one Tim shot two photos of each page. There were three ledgers and Tim started with the earliest.

Suddenly the door opened and Tim saw a young lady freeze. Tim leapt and had the girl on the ground and her mouth covered before she could raise the alarm. From his research, this was Marie, one of the secretaries. A kind soul that always gave the Cossack a few coins...now he would have to kill her.

In Russian, Tim warned, "I will release my hands from your mouth. If you scream you will end up like Gregory Alexovich. Now be a dear and sit with your face against the door with your hands where I can see them."

Slowly Tim pulled back and retrieved his pistol. She noted the sound suppressor and knew that no one would hear the shot if he pulled the trigger. Tim dropped the bearer bonds in his bag.

"What is your name?"

"Marie Ivanoa Romanov."

"Marie, I did not plan on you enjoying the festivities, but you are coming with me. Do you have a car?"

Marie shook her head. City-dwelling females typically did not drive in Russia. If a family had a vehicle, it was the men who used it.

"You will march by my side. You will pretend to be my girlfriend. One misstep and your next residence is the graveyard. Nod if you understand."

Marie nodded.

The _professional_ part of him wanted to kill her. She saw his face up close. She could raise the alarm. She heard the click of the camera and knew that he was after more than the bonds.

However, Tim had not killed a female before...at least not an innocent one. DNA Amy was one thing. She had to go or the world would be overpopulated with cuddle-bunnies. But he could not kill young girls...especially one that was cute enough to have him start contemplating some other nocturnal activity.

_Christ Tim, stop thinking with your pecker and start thinking with your brain. Marie is a threat. Marie..._

He was no longer thinking of her as a target, an obstacle to be removed, an it, a non-person. He was thinking of her as a living human being and the thought unmanned him.

"Up."

Tim walked next to her his face in her strawberry blond hair...his gun in her side.

"Remember the drill, you will be the first one shot should anyone act up."

"Da," She whimpered.

"Good girl, don't cry and you will live to see tomorrow."

However she was crying. Tim knew that she believed that he would kill her. If he had to ask himself, he would probably be the first to admit it.

Slowly the twenty three meters to the smoker's exit stretched to twenty three leagues. Every step, Tim swore that the pistol was becoming heavier. The act of looking normal was more draining than the act of taking a life.

Tim kept a death grip on the Russian girl as he made his way to the parking garage.

"Which one is Gregory's car?"

Tim knew but he asked her anyways.

"White Mercedes 230SLK...One with red tax sticker."

Tim had gotten a universal key. It was one of Wade's inventions and allowed Tim to steal just about any car in the world. He motioned Marie into the rear passenger seat and activated the child locks. He then climbed into the driver's seat.

"No noise and put on your restraint belt. Seat in the middle of the seat where I can see you in the mirror. If you are a good girl, I will let you out somewhere along the ring road. Nod if you understand."

Marie was whimpering as she nodded. Tim knew that she expected him to kill her. She saw him. Worse, the authorities would suspect her of cooperating in the murder and theft. Even if that, the Russian mob would kill her just because she might be linked to him.

Tim turned on the radio to catch the news. However the radio could not cover the sounds of crying.

_Her life is over. Killing her quickly is the most merciful way out for her._

However, when he tried to imaging putting the muzzle of his pistol to her head and pulling trigger, Tim could not.

_Her, forget about her._

However, Tim could not kill a her. He could kill an _it_ all day. Monkey Fist was an _it_. Motor Ed was an _it_. Gill was an _it_. DNA Amy was an _it_. The moment an it became a her he lost his ability to be utterly ruthless.

_Why can't she fight back? Why doesn't she resist? Can't she see that she is going to be killed by someone if I don't kill her?_

Tim knew that he was going nuts. He had killed dozens. He had tortured and maimed. He had laugh at the screams of his victims. He had drunk down great gulps of madness. Now he could not hurt someone that threatens his existence.

Tim knew that no matter what he did, it would be the wrong decision. Not even if he ate a bullet right now could she be saved.

_What am I going to do with her? I can't kill her. I can't leave her to suffer. I can't do anything. Curse you mom. Why did I have to be raised Irish Catholic? I do not remember spending all that much time in church and yet I am still stuck with the guilt._

Tim looked at the sobbing girl in the back seat of the now deceased Gregory Alexovich's Mercedes wondering just how much longer until he would eat the bullet. He had just messed up an innocent life and there were no good options.

* * *

Ronald Stoppable Possible cursed his conscience. He was cursed with the double whammy as grandpa Stoppable would brag. Jewish father with an Irish Catholic mother meant that Ronnie inherited a double helix of guilt...one from each side of the family. Violetta was lucky to be a foster kid, Dr. Sanchez tried in vain to spoon feed his best pal with guilt every Friday in Lent along with the fish and on Sunday mornings down at the local parish church. Her DNA obviously did not come with guilt. 

Violetta had gone too far, but Ronnie could not figure out how to stop her without losing their friendship. Violetta had found of the little lab books of Ronnie's uncles...the type that any sane government would slap a security classification.

"Don't worry. According to your uncles, the explosion was localized. It's just a bigger toilet bomb."

Ronnie remembered the last time they use the toilet bomb. The sisters had the pair cleaning all the toilets for a month to make sure there was no residual explosive in the piping.

"Besides, we timed the mix to only go off when Sis...sister Bernadine goes to the restroom. All you have to do is put a little pill into her drink. It will dissolve and make her want to go to the restroom. It would be our final hurrah before we go to Junior High."

Ronnie was feeling very uncomfortable about this prank. Violetta was usually the sly one, the one telling him to tone it down. Now she was one already dancing to the imaginary explosions.

"Come on, Ronnie. It's just like the time you drop the liquid colon cleaner in the soccer team's water jug."

Ronnie looked at his best pal. She tossed in the face and the deal was sealed.

"You owe me for this Vee."

"Don't worry, I will make it worth your while. Say the latest Ripper game. I got a bootleg of the Japanese version with no censored scenes."

Normally Ronnie would sell his soul to get the sold out video game. It was so violent that every mother was protesting the company which meant that every self-respecting kid had to have one in his or her game console. If that was gold, the Japanese version was totally platinum. But that was normally. However of late his interest in ultra-violent video game mayham was fading.

Ronnie wondered what was wrong with him. Things were changing along with Violetta's chest line. Like all self-respeciting twelve year old males who were ungoing the start of puberty, Ronnie had the mandated Playboy magazine hidden under his mattress. Unlike the other boys, his porno hookup happened to be his grandfather. Grandpa Possible had slipped it to Ronnie so that Ronnie would be attracted to girls not end up like his uncle Jim. Grandpa Possible was weird that way. Grandma said that grandpa was always wierd.

Ronnie remembered when he and Violetta thought nothing of stripping off their clothes and play in the lake when they were younger. Now he was finding himself trying to peek on his best friend when she was changing. Violetta was also inspiring something different in his gut. Ronnie could not figure it out. He wanted to but then he felt guilty about it.

Violetta smiled and his stomach turned. This only to confuse Ronnie more. She was too busy with her plan to notice that he could see Violetta's pink and green stripped underwear as he looked up her skirt. Ronnie knew that something was really wrong. His thing had a habit of trying to stand and he found himself hiding the fact behind anything he could find.

"I'll be back, Vee. I got to run to the bathroom."

"We're locked out until your mom gets home, Ronnie. You left the keys on the desk."

"Then where?"

Violetta smacked her pal in the forehead with her palm while exhaling the duh.

"Duh, behind the bushes. I got to go too, follow me."

Violetta grabbed Ronnie by the hand and lead him behind the bushes. She slide off her panties and squatted. Ronnie turned red in the face and quickly turned around.

"Idiot. You have been trying to peek at me for the past two months and when I let you peek you...Gods, how can I sha...say it any clearer. I don't care if you peek. In fact I like it."

"You...what?"

Ronnie caught himself turning around.

"Guys always try to peek in on pretty girls. Every time you tried to peek, you were telling me that I was pretty. Also when you're tying to hide your _tent_, you are cute. All the girls ask me about your thing."

"They what?"

"They ask me. Girls talk to other girls about the strangest things. Don't worry, I just sma..smile back and tell them they missed out."

Ronnie was now beyond lost. Violetta was leading him to some unknown place. Violetta removed her top and her skirt. He decided to follow where the path lead.

"Now that you get to look at me...I want to look at you too. After all, I went first."

Ronnie found himself standing in the buff with his stick sticking out. He wanted to cover his face but Vee grabbed his hands. Ronnie's heart was beating a mile a minute. He had looked at photographs but here was the first live naked girl. He did not know what to do and neither did Vee. However, Vee being the most adventurous took a step towards Ronnie.

"Am I pretty?" she asked.

Her voice was not strong. Her green eyes locked unto his.

"Very pretty."

Ronnie reached out and found himself touching her breast. It was soft and yet some instinct clicked in. He reached out with his other hand to touch her other breast.

"You're cute when you blush."

She touched his chest. She tilted her head up and was pulling his face into hers for a kiss.

It was at that moment that his mother caught the two of them playing doctor.

145 Able Lane became ground zero for a 1,000 megaton explosion. Ronnie found his right ear being yanked by his fuming mother as the other hand operated the speed dial feature on her cell phone. His mother was calling Dr. Robert Sanchez, Vee's foster mom, and telling her to drop what she was doing and come down and pick up Vee. Vee had picked up all the the clothes and was following Ron and his mom to the house.

Dr. Sanchez came with a DVD that Ronnie and Vee did not want to see. It was the video of Vee's mother giving birth. The blood and scream sickened both the thirteen year-olds and the image of someone as small as Vee was giving birth shook the pair up.

Kim was yelling, "See what happen when you start playing doctor. Vee's mother died from giving birth. Ronnie, do you want to see your best friend die that way? In pain, screaming because you could not be a man and say no."

The adults separated the pair.

"You are both grounded until you are eighteen and have your own place. Until then you will not be alone with Violetta, if we ever decide that you can see one another."

"But mom..."

_But mom_ only spurred on Ron's mom to new heights.

"Are you only going to but mom me when Violetta's nine months pregnant with your kid? Are you only going to _but mom_ me when Roberta and I are already grandmothers? _But mom_ is not a contraceptive device, young man. Violetta has periods. That means that she can get pregnant...especially if you two are playing doctor without a condom. If I ever caught you and Violetta playing doctor again, I will have your grandfather send you up in a space probe to the _nearest black hole_. Do you understand me?"

Ronnie and Violetta were forced to repeat the words and threats from both the 'rent's mouths. He finally learned what _puta ina mu_ mean along with a new host of obscenities and bodily threats in Spanish and Tagalog. Along with the threat of having both his heads loped off with a rusty bolo knife and fed to the local rodent population.

However despite all the pain and shame of being caught naked by the 'rent, nothing hurt worst than the look on Violetta's face when Dr. Sanchez in anger told her that Violetta was not her daughter anymore. Nothing destroyed the young girl as that statement. The last that Ron would see of her for a long time was her running crying into the bathroom.

_It was all his fault_.

Because of Ronnie, Violetta had lost everything. Ronnie knew that as a foster kid, Violetta could always be returned back to the agency. He had cost his pal everything. She was now without a family because of him. He was ordered to his room and put something on as both the mother's...mother and Violetta's caretaker...try to coax a hysterical twelve year old girl out of the guest bathroom.

* * *

Tim Possible looked on the form of the young lady he had kidnapped. 

He had driven for two days eastward before abandoning the car and stealing another which he drove two more days. This was the fifth day without sleep for either of the pair.

Marie was finally exhausted by the ordeal and fell asleep. Tim had dismantled the gun and removed the firing pin before reassembling it. He pocketed the firing pin. He then lay across in front of the door of the woodsman hut wondering why he evened bothered to remove the firing pin. If she woke up, she could have ended the pain.

There were a lot more nasty ways to die then to have one's brains blown out. Tim knew. He had research and actually used gruesome methods of death on his victims. He let the cuddle bunnies starve until they were mad with hunger and then let them feast on the flesh of DNA Amy while she was still alive. He had skinned Monkey Fist and made him eat his own flesh. He had braided Motor Ed's broken limbs through the spokes of his tires. He had slowy dipped various part of Gill in a monsterous deep fat fryer and turned the mutant into fish sticks. He had...he had become more monstrous than the predator he sought to eliminate.

He wondered want would have happened if Ron and Kim knew what he had become. Not that it mattered since they would never know. No one would since the fact would destroy them.

He closed his eyes waiting for sleep to drag him off to his nightmarish visions.

* * *

Kim Possible tossed and turned in her bed.

Something was wrong, like she was overlooking something familiar.

Ronnie was like his father is so many ways it hurt sometimes to even look at him. He had the same cluelessness when dealing with women. He was clumsy and tripped over his feet a lot like his father did before the final growth spurt matched his body to the size of his feet. Like his father, Ronnie was blindly following along with his best pal since Pre-K.

Violetta reminded Kim of herself. Despite a medical condition that sometimes landed her in the hospital, Violetta was just a driven and aggressive as Kim was. She was driven by a need to push herself to do more...to prove to the world that she was not just as good but better. The only difference was the Violetta was more willing to break the rules and push the boundries set by others.

Violetta's numerous profitable schemes and pranks proved that the girl could be more cynical than any $1,000 per hour attorney and yet still held a child-like trust where Ronnie was concerned. Ronnie was her blind spot, the one part where Violetta did not erect a shield between her and the rest of the world.

_Enough, Kim. Ronnie is still your little boy. Even if he is a tall as you and a little heavier._

Ronnie was growing up. She did not need the incident to make it clear. His body was not the same body she saw when she changed his diapers. Altough he was still young, Kim noticed that his upper body was beganing to bulk up. He showed signs of inheriting her father's tall build.

Kim knew just exactly how long she held unto her chastity from the moment she left the house. She and Ron Stoppable did not even make it to cruising altitude leat alone their condo in New York. With Ronnie obviously going through puberty and already having been selected by a very determined girl to be her _boy toy. _That pretty much sealed Ronnie's fate. Kim knew that she would have to keep a very close eye on the pair.

Kim remembered what it was like to be consumed by passion. She still remembered all the times _dessert_ involve dipping of a certain Jewish boy's sausage into her honey pot.

However, those memories aside. Violetta reminded her of someone she once knew. Kim when down the names of all her high school classmates. Violetta can be meaner that Bonnie, but Violetta did not use the food chain...She was above it. Violetta can be quiet and shy like Tara at time. She was a martial arts addict like Monique was an addict to pro wresling, but Violetta preferred Smarty Mart to higher end stores. However, none of them were the fit that Kim was looking for.

Kim was looking for a tough, cyncical, make your own rules personality, a disregard for fashion, and yet deep down would drop everything to help the ones she loved. She was looking for someone she once knew. However the name and face eluded her. It was familiar. It was someone that Kim knew really well.

A thousand little incidents added up to a sense of deja vu for the former teen heroine. The problem was figuring which moment in time was repeating.

Who did Violetta remind her of?

* * *

Roberta Sanchez watch as her foster daughter listlessly did all the household chores for two weeks straight without prompting. The old Violetta would fight tooth and nail to avoid housework, but this defeat girl merely did her tasks without uttering a single word. In fact, the teen did not utter a word since the incident.

The child psychologist realized that she had made the biggest mistake that anyone could make...going off half-cocked.

Violetta acted confident and tough. However, despite all the strength Violetta could display at times, the child had her share insecurities. In the heat of anger, Roberta attacked Violetta's biggest weakness. Violetta did not have a family, at least a legally recognized family.

Growing up, Violetta had considered her Auntie 'Berta to be her mother. Why shouldn't she...Tita 'Berta fed her, changed her diapers, took her to the doctors, attended her piano recitals, gymnastics competitions, kung fu lessons, and wishu demonstrations. To the child, being a foster kid was just some legal thing that would sort itself out like everything else in her life has sorted itself out.

When that second grade teacher had Violetta do that family tree project, Violetta for the first time realized that what the child believed to be her family was not really her family. It was the first time the child was force to confront the fact that she did not have parents like all the other kids had.

When Roberta blew up, she had destroyed the foundation that Violetta based her entire life on. Violetta believed that her Tita 'Berta would always be there for her. With a single sentence, Robert Sanchez distroyed the foundation of Violetta's life. Now Violetta was acting more like the unwanted guest at the banquet instead of the daughter of the house.

"Violetta come here and sit down."

The young teen walked over and sat. Before Roberta could compose her thought, Violetta opened her mouth.

"Miss Sanchez, I don't belong here. I am sha...sha...sha...sorry that I was an ungrateful burden and turned my back on all you gave me. I packed my ska...ska...school things and a couple changes of clothing into my backpack. I don't have enough money to pay you back for everything you did for me. But I left you all the money that Ronnie and I had made on our ska...ska...scams. I am ready to be taken away by Miss McComb to the girls' home anytime you want."

It was that moment that Roberta knew that nothing else she could do could hurt the child more.

"This is your home. You grew up here. Listen to me Violetta. I snapped. You and Ronnie were growing up and exploring and I did not prepare you for the consequences. I was the one who messed up. I was the one who did not control my anger."

Roberta held her sobbing foster daughter to her chest.

"Please don't lie to me. You taught me that if the thought was not there the words won't come out. You were right to tell me that I am not your daughter. I earned your hate. You gave me everything and I failed to be the daughter that you deserve. I understand that I failed you. I was acting like a sla...slut...like my real mom. Worse, my real mom was forced into it. Mom was beat up and put on the red crystal. I just let...I told him to stra...st...strip off his clothes. I was the little whore. I belong with all the other girls who..."

Roberta shook the little sobbing mess.

"No you weren't. I was angry because I let something happen to me at your age and I did not wnat you to suffer like I did. I had just arrived at the orphanage. My parents died in the car accident and my paternal grandmother, Grace, was in the hospital dying. There was no one else left to take care of me. There was a guy who worked at the house. He told me that my grandmother was dying that I would remain at the home. I never felt so alone. This was before I meet your Tita Lori.

"One day, the man told me that they were finalizing the paperwork to send me over to another home. One that only permanent cases went to. I did not want to go. To go would forever sentence me to living in a home. He told me there was one way. He took me to a small closet and made me...do things with him that I did not want to do. He told me that as long as I kept my mouth shut and as long as I did the things with him, he would ensure that the paperwork was held up.

"He made me his _special girl_ and for nearly a year, I did all the disgusting thing he told me to do. I was not much older than your mother when I was forced to do this. He had a disease...he gave me this disease. When the doctor checked me out, it was too late for me. The sickness made sterile...I couldn't have a child of my own. There were three other girls who also were his victims. He knew about the check-up schedule and fled before the authorities could get to him. I know that Ronnie has not done what you two were about to do. However, I was afraid that...I did not want you to go through what I went through. I did not want you to lose your future and your innocence as I have lost my future.

"You are my only child, Violetta. Maybe, I did not push you out of my womb. But I caught you. I changed your diapers and put with your incessant singing of _Itchy Bitchy 'pi-der_ every time you saw a bug without slugging you into next week. I hope that you will allow me to be there when you graduate, marry, and have your child. I am going to tell you a secret. My degree is a Ph.D. Ph.D. simply means is piled higher and deeper. And I don't mean cherry blossoms and rose peddles. My other two degrees are BS and MS. Can you guess what they mean?"

The look on the girl's face change as she worked her way through the acronyms.

"Bullshit and more shi...shit. So I end up in college to get a degree in moving shi...shit. Thanks for the enlightenment."

Roberta was actually happy to her Violetta use obscenities. The old Violetta was returning.

"Does that mean the grounding's off?"

Roberta knew that when Violetta began negotiations, she was starting to put the worst of the incident behind her.

"No. Nice try. Becides I would wait for Tita Kim to calm down first, otherwise you risk getting Ronnie grounded for even longer than he already is. Besides, there are some things we need to talk about first."

Roberta heard the familiar moan.

"Don't tell me, lecture nine opus two ninty eight - The birds and the bees."

* * *

Ronnie Possible woke up the instant the window opened. 

It was his best pal. She closed the window.

"As you going get into trouble?"

Vee smirked, "What's the worst thing you mother can do? Launch you to a black hole. If you don't already know that I would sneak into the cockpit with you then you really are dumb."

"Christ, if my mom."

"You mom would be the least of my worries. I came to tell you that I am not upset that we did what we did."

"What! But I don't want you to have...have to go away or die."

"Listen Ronnie. Don't let your guilt control you. We learn a little lesson. We get caught. We figure out what went wrong. And we get back on the coaster like we always do.

"I caught my Tita 'Berta at a weak point. I just came here to tell you the game plan to get you out of your grounding. I want you to be an obedient boy. Actually start doing all the household chores without being asked and mope around the house. When your mother acts you if you want to do something fun, say no thank you and that it's not fun without Vee around, and if she pushes just say why waste the money, it not fun without me. I want you to act like you have been brain washed by the gnomes and that you are a robot. No emotions...just bland as the lunch lady's pasta. In a few weeks, your mom would freak out with the monk act and do anything to have her normal boy back."

"But..."

Vee hushed Ronnie.

"Don't worry about me getting pregnant. I will make sure that we don't risk it. You don't have to push the baby out of your gut. You're a boy. You end of human reproduction is to plant the baby in a girl. There is no way in hell I'm pushing out a baby until I am much older, thank you very much, Mr. Possible. Besides, we have the megaton toilet bomb to plant. This Friday would be so perfect. The fat nun doesn't have a chance."

The pair had their game plan for the final prank of their elementry carreer. Without further word, they agree to put off anything that involved the potential of having a baby erupting out of the stomach like the creature in _Aliens_ and focus on their first love..._creating_ _chaos_.

The pair cuddled and kissed before Violetta crawled back out the window, but not before Violetta handed Ronnie the green and pink stripe panties she wore _that day_.

"Don't lose it or I will make you wear it on your head. Next time, you're making the midnight trip and risking your neck climbing up to my window, glow face boy."

Ronnie glowed red in the face.


	30. Movements on the Front

**Moving On**

**Movements on the Front**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

_**Surgeon's General Warning:**_

_Not typing a review will be hazardous to your mental health.

* * *

_

Wade Load was worried.

Tim did not show up at the pick-up point as was planned.

Wade scanned the local police radio frequencies and captured cell phone traffic. Even now two of Wade's custom built supercomputers were dedicated to shifting through the plethora of data to find any clues as to the location of Kim's youngest (by eight minutes) brother.

Wade hated dealing with the Russians.

The Cold War had long been over when Wade Lode was born. However, the opposition did not computerize all their records. Most things in Russia still moved on paper instead via electrons. It made gathering information a nightmare. To get the really good trash in Russia, you had to compromise someone with access to the hardcopy files. And the Russians were legendary when it came to counterintelligence. Traitors did not live long in this land of paranoia. A part of him wanted to go over to such places and force them to use computers so that he could just hack away.

Wade had traces some of the money Drakken used to pay off his rescuers to a private banking house in Moscow. The Russians, like other continental European banks, established numbered escrow accounts with money just mysteriously appearing in a general fund. These accounts established a banking _firewall_ that made it difficult to trace banking transactions.

However, Russians being Russians had kept extensive paper records of every deal they performed. It kept the drones fat, happy, and employed. It also prevented someone like Wade Lode from getting access to their confidential information. To trace the money, Wade had to get someone to physically penetrate the bank and get the information of the ledger without spooking the locals. There was only one person who was crazy enough and skilled enough to do the task...Tim Possible.

Wade scanned the police frequencies. The mission went south. It was slip in and slip out, no body's, just a theft of bonds to hide the fact the the real jewels were copies of the escrow ledgers. Now there was a dead banker, a missing secretary, and rumors of a professional hit man call the _Cossack_. The Gregory Alexovich's Mercedes was found two days day east of Moscow and a Russian made Fiat clone was reported stolen in the same area.

Wade cursed himself for not chipping Tim. Tim refused it, but Wade could have done it without letting Tim know.

Wade could not divert satellites without compromising this_ unauthorized operation_. Global Justice firmly told Wade and the Possible twins not to seek out Drakken. Telling the twins not to do something was basically encouraging it to happen.

This operation went from SNAFU to some point far beyond FUBAR. Wade had to make the call. Tim was in trouble and there was only one Possible who was experience enough with field work.

Wade had to do it. He picked up his custom made secure phone.

"Jim, Wade here. Your brother went on a mission and I think...I know that he is in deep trouble. He's in Russia...I found a potential lead on Drakken and he...The mission went beyond FUBAR. I got a dead banker, pissed off cops, and Russian mob bosses putting a hefty price out on Tim's head. I can't deal with Global Justice unless you want your brother posing for rifle fire...Tim might have killed a man and kidnapped a daughter of a very important politician. There is no way in hell that the Russians would play ball. I can get you to the location where Tim dumped a vehicle...It's swarming with Russian cops and most of them get a second paycheck from the Russian Mafia...You're going in totally off the books...Tim gave me coordinates of two caches he set up in Moscow. However, it's places where foreigners don't show...I don't know what's inside. All I know is that your brother stocks everything but the kitchen sink, doesn't go off half-cocked like you did."

Wade shuddered when Jim asked about firearms. Jim and Tim had a reputation for breaking all the rules. He knew that Jim and Tim had killed. He suspected that one or both of them even tortured villains for information. It was whispered that the twins were Global Justice's resident chillers. The suspicious were so bad the global justice had virtually washed their hands of the Possible twins.

"I am guessing that he got some firearms stashed, but I'm not sure. Police say that the killer used a suppressed twenty two to wack the banker...I can't give you much of a cover. Tim spent two weeks under hypnosis learning to speak Russian, Ukrainian, and Cossack. I can give you best a three days crash course in Russian and Cossack, but you won't sound like any native...Go to the usual place, unit 11-121, 34-13-07. I need you to inject a chip into your neck...It's an update, it allows you to communicate with me...Just say, _Yo Wade_ and I will be listening...There are two suitcases with everything you need. Your name will be Nicholas Alexovich Kerensky. You grew up in New York and learned to speak Russian from your Russian mother and Cossack from your White Russian grandmother, but were not taught all the subtleties of Russian grammar. When you find Tim, I need you to use the chip to give me a location and an update on the situation on the ground. I will then work out an extraction. If you get caught, there's no back up. Global Justice will say you went rogue and you will be getting the 21st century update of the old Soviet hammer and the sickle. The best I can do is to give you a couple cyanide tablets hidden inside a pen."

There was a rift between the two brothers, but still when one was in trouble, the other would not leave the other to rot. Wade read once that many identical twins were telepathic. He prayed that he was right and that Jim can use his ability to suss out Tim before the shit hit the geosynchronous satellite. Otherwise he was responsible for the death of three of his closest friends...Ron, Tim, and Jim. It was his fault that Ron was called in on the operation to transfer Drakken to the island prison. Wade had altered the orders so that Kim and Ron could have a little tax payer paid vacation and it cost Ron his life. Now Tim was lose on an off the book mission and Jim was going in after Tim.

* * *

Tim Possible woke up with the worst possible sight in the world one could imagine.

Normally one would think of a 0.22-inch diameter hole as a mighty small hole. However, when you woke up with a muzzle pointed in your face, that 0.22-inch diameter hole looked like the business end of a 16-inch naval cannon.

However, the young man was far too out of it to even contemplate what was happening. He just had enough of this messed up mission.

If his hostage, Marie, killed him it did not matter. If he killed her it did not matter. Tim knew that he had no way out of this god-forsaken hole. When he was in the hospital for observation after the car accident, Tim once read an old paperback where some Native American air force test pilot escaped a Soviet POW camp and made his way back to the states via the Bearing Straiti. That was pretty much the only idea that came into his head. It was a long shot, but it made sense. While Tim was the product of an Irish Catholic brain surgeon and an White Anglo-Saxon Protestant rocket scientist, he had learned his shares of wilderness survival skills from his red neck paternal grandfather. Besides, if he died out in the tundra, it would be a lot better than if the Russian mob got a hold of him.

"It won't do you any good. I am the only one that can keep you breathing Marie. If they catch us, they will kill you anyways, and they won't be as nice 'bout it as I as I would be. Go back to bed, we move out in the morning."

Tim just closed his eyes and went back to sleep wondering why he just did not really give a damn.

* * *

Marie Ivanoa Romanov looked at the sleeping form of her capture with a stunned surprised. She had the pistol literally stuck up his nostril and he merely went back to sleep as if she was not a threat.

Last week, Marie was fantasizing about being seduced by some James Bond who would free her of her workday drudgery. Growing up the only child of a powerful oligarch meant her life was a gilded cage. She had the appropriate lessons. She had earned a doctorate in economics and was given a job in one of her father's many business. She was paraded in an effort to attract the eye of one of the scions of her father's political allies, but no man dared got too close to her and risk the wrath of her bear of a father. When your old man was a former KGB type who worked with the current president of the Russian President, no one wanted to take a chance. Even now, the old legends of what occurred in the basement interrogation rooms of the old KGB building ware still terrifying.

With her father being one of the most influential members of the Duma (Russian Parliment), she had meant her share of ex-_Spetsnaz_ operatives who worked for the GROM Security Company. They were tough and competent, but they were crude, peasant types from the countryside who moaned in agony every time she would go do cultured things like attend to the ballet or opera. She grew up being escorted everywhere by one of her father's numerous bodyguards.

Once Marie hated her father's bodyguards for ruining every thing. Their presence ensured that she could not have a boyfriend. They ensured that she would never be allowed to be normal girl. When he graduated from university, she got her father to reluctantly relax the presence of the bodyguards. Now they would pick her up and drop her off from work. They would provide around the clock security when she was in her Moscow flat. However, while she was at work, the banks security was deemed competent enough to protect her.

Before, she would have died before even thinking of one of the gorillas as husband material. Now she would willingly whore herself to anyone one of them if they would only rescue her from her captivity.

No one at the bank would try to do anything funny with the only child of her father. Only the president of Russian wielded more power. She did not have to endure the unwanted sexual advances that any other pretty young university graduates suffered. Besides Gregory Alexovich was such a _pidar_ (faggot) that he paid young men to turn him into a _petookh opooscheny_ (raped male prison bitch) on the weekends and holiday. It was part of Marie's duties to act as his socially acceptable companion, even when everyone knew that he was as the American would say _queer as a three dollar bill._

Now here she was...kidnapped by some creature from another world. The man who held her was not a perverted rapist who kidnapped her to sate his fantasies. He was obviously not holding her for ransom. He did not kill her for witnessing Gregory's assassination as many would have. His...aura, for a lack of a better term, unnerved her. She had showed him her biggest bluff and he dismissed it as if she was holding a water pistol. She looked at the pistol. It was something that only an assassin would use. It was a pistol that her captor used to kill her supervisor. She still remembered Gregory Alexovich's brains splattered all over the wall.

Marie wondered what was wrong with her. She could just pull the trigger and her kidnapper would be dead. The Mafia would not kill her. She was her father's daughter. The mob did not want to anger the next Interior Minister of the Russian Federation. They would look for her. They would protect her and return her to her father to earn influence from the man responsible for maintaining internal order in the Russian Federation.

Freedom was only a trigger's pull away. She could return back to her old life. She could be free of this nightmare and yet when it came time, she could not kill the man who propelled her into this nightmare.

She placed the muzzle under her chin. There was only one way left to be free. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

The trigger moved and the hammer dropped. However instead of a bullet finishing her off all she heard was a click. She pulled the trigger again and again, but there was no deliverance from her ordeal. She threw the pistol into the corner.

_I have to be in hell. He killed me and I am stuck in hell living this nightmare. What else is going to happen? What is he going to do to me?_

Marie's predictable life was no longer her own to control. She could not even take her life and end her ordeal. A demon had captured her and was toying with her before he consumed her. Marie felt every last gram of self-control fading away.

* * *

Kim Possible was worried.

First it was the little things.

Ronnie's room was spotless. He bed was made. He did his own laundry. Every afternoon, she came home to find dinner cooked and the boy actually doing his homework. Every time she asked him if he wanted to do anything remotely fun, he would politely decline.

It was as if Ronnie was put through the brain switching machine with a lawn gnome or Wadebot. However when she contacted Wade, he reported that his EKG's patterns were similar save for signs of anger and sadness.

Everyday, Ronnie was getting more and more moody.

When the toilet blew up under Sister Bernadine, he even took upon the unprecedented act of taking on all the blame confessing to a stunned audience that it was no fun without Violetta helping him.

Ronnie not getting a laugh out of a prank was serious. It was like the Tweebs not raising havoc...not blowing something up.

Kim tried to find out what was wrong with Ronnie. He was spacing out and becoming so emotionless that Kim could not stand it anymore. She had to do something. Dr. Robert Sanchez was the head shrink. It was time for Ronnie's head to get examined.

"Roberta, it's Kim...Ronnie is acting so moppy...He never cleans. I got to threaten him with my cooking before he does anything. Now he is even color coding his underwear and socks. Nothing gets him excited. I mean when he pulled that prank, he did not even smile let alone do the villainous laugh. It's like something sucked out his life force. What should I do?...I understand that he won't open up to you. Who should I take him to?...Okay, I will take him over to see Dr. Chan tomorrow."

Kim wondered what would be the diagnosis.

* * *

Tim woke up, picked up the pistol and put it in his holster. Looking over at the quivering strawberry blond mess in the corner he wondered when he would just face up to facts and put the child out of her misery.

_Killing her is the best thing that you can do. If she had any family, they would probably be dead or being enthusiastically interrogated to find out where she ran off to. If you leave her here, they will find her and work her over to find you and get back the bonds._

Tim knew that he could reach out and snap her neck. She would feel very little pain. No one would be able to hurt her anymore. And yet when he decided on that course of action, he could not even face her.

_You're a pussy, Tim. You're brother might be a fag, but you are nothing but a pussy._

Tonight, it would end. Tonight he would reinsert the firing pin into the pistol and leave it out. Maybe then she could end his life and send him off to hell.

This had to be hell. He had to be dead and was now trapped in this repeating scenario where he was holding an apparent means of salvation but could not be man enough to use it. If so the devil was more cunning than anyone suspected. Tim knew from experience that there was no more effective torture than to give someone hope and then yank it away.

Tim searched the cabin. In the chest, there was some typical rural clothing. They were all too large, but they were perfect for this weather. He even found a pair of boots that would fit her if she wore extra socks and stuffed a pair into the toes. Walking around with a female in a business suit is not the way to be inconspicuous.

Tim selected some clothing and tossed it at the feet of the sobbing girl.

"Change. We are going to take a long walk in the forest."

The blond stood up, slipped out of her clothing and into the clothing that he stole. It was as if she had no pride left. She stripped as if she was alone, but she was not alone.

_Tim, stop thinking with your pecker. She hates you. She knows that you are going to put a bullet in her skull somewhere in the woods. She's already consigned herself to die._

He shook his head to clear the image of her body from his mind and motioned her toward the woods. She led the way and did not bother to look back. From the listless way she moved, he knew that he already broken her spirit. It was the first time he broke the spirit of an innocent soul. Torturers and executers rarely lead long lives. Now he intimately knew why. Once your broke the first innocent soul, you have just enacted the acceleration clause in your deal with the Devil.

* * *

Kim Possible waited four hours waiting for her son to finish his numerous psychological tests. When Ronnie finally staggered out, Dr. Chan motioned Kim Possible to enter.

"Miss Possible, I am going to need you to sit down and listen carefully. It's normal for someone Ronnie's age to go through phases. Girls have their phases. Guys have their phases. Ronnie is going through a phase earlier than most teenage males.

"About thirteen to fourteen, guys start discovering girls. Normally at this stage their confident is a guy who don't know jack about girls. However, I gather that his best friend is a girl. That means that unlike most guys who have to woo a girl before getting to first base, Ronnie already found a willing female confidant. When you trust your partner, you tend to go a little faster. When it's time for him to explore his developing sexuality, who do you think it's going to be – Someone random girl or someone he trusts? In short, Ronnie's problem is that human biology is in conflict with human culture."

Kim wondered what that meant.

"Human biology has not changed significantly in fifteen thousand years. Humans like animals are programmed to do certain things. Eat, reproduce, and live just long enough to ensure that one's offspring can successfully repeat the process. Early man only lived 30 years so he had to start reproducing by fifteen. Unfortunately, the biological time clock for males start reproducing is 14 to 16 years of age. Females are programmed to start having kids at 12 to 13. However, to survive today, it takes 22 years to produce a college graduate and 30 years to produce a doctor, let along start making enough to support a family. Today's teens have to fight off Mother Nature reproduction urges for ten to fifteen years. Ronnie's problem – Biology and modern media is telling him to mate. You and most of society are telling him to hold off any sexual activity."

"But I caught him..."

Dr. Chan held up his hand.

"Miss Possible, your son is simply ahead of the curve. Most boys' confidants are other boys. They have to learn to deal with girls and then use that knowledge to get a girl to agree to even kiss. Ronnie's best friend, Violetta, is a girl and they are already close. They trust one another totally. It's not that far a step from being best friends to lovers. I remember that you and his father were best pals as kids. Ronnie is mopping because he can't be with the girl he loves."

"So you are telling me to let them have sex."

"No Kim, listen please and don't lawyer up on me and hear only the part you want to hear. Having sex is just one part of expressing love. One can express and experience love without having sexual intercourse. Cuddling, kissing, holding hands...just even hanging out and doing some mindless thing not even remotely sexual is an expression of love. Even when you and Ronnie's father started to get physical, I doubt that you two were running through the Karma Sutra every single second. Didn't you date, go to movies, have dinner, hold hands."

And yet thinking back to her dates with Ron all Kim could remember at the moment was playing _Hide the sausage_ with Ron Stoppable in every room and the stairs of their condo. She knew that she dated and they had dinners, but she could not remember those details.

"I already had a talk with Ronnie about this. That's why today's session run an extra half an hour. Ronnie has to deal with his changing body, his best friend's changing body, the fact that his best friend pretty much already selected him for a future mate, hormones, and society's conflicting expectations about what it is to become a man. Most males make it through their teen years without messing up too badly. I made it through. My sons and daughters made it through. Yes, it was not easy and more than once I fantasized about using my shotgun on my daughters' boyfriends.

"It will be harder in many ways for your son. However, he is not the little boy who filled his diaper twelve times a day anymore. He is growing up without a father. Normally, it's easier for a boy to describe what's happening to him to a male father figure. A father would give him the talk, tell him that fantasizing about having sex with just about every cute girl you encounter is normal and daily masturbation won't make him blind, make his penis misshapen, or have him grow hairy palms. That he is not alone in dealing with all the BS that we program our children with.

"I know you try. I had to deal with my youngest daughter's developing sexuality when her mother passed away. I remember when I had to have the talk and explain to her how to use a tampon. Worse, children are never going to go to their parents with all their issues. Remember our teen years. Adults are the enemy, not to be trusted. Teens believe that they know everything and adults are so out of touch. Being an adolescent means you're breaking away from the nest and learning to fly on your own."

"So in one sentence what am I to do?"

"Simple, face that fact that your son is growing up and that you have to eventually let him go some. Be proactive – be upfront now with your son what you expect of him with regard to sex, drugs, alcohol, and all the other things that he would encounter. Legislating behavior won't work. You have to sell...you have to persuade him that it's in his best interests to behave. You have to get him to agree to limit himself, because parental rule by divine fiat just doesn't work anymore. You heard of judo?"

"I'm a black belt." Kim replied.

"Okay, you will understand the principles - instead of pitting yourself between him and his girl, use his attachment to the girlfriend to encourage him to act appropriately. Make her your ally instead of your enemy. From what I observe, Ronnie genuinely cares for Violetta...I sense that it's more than just physical lust acting up. If he believes that doing something would put her at great risk, I have the feeling he won't do it.

"Other than that, I will have the full psychological profile draw up and ready for you to pick up or if you want I will have it sent via Fed-Ex to your office or home.

"Quick summary - His IQ is relatively high, I will have the final numbers in the report. Genius in math and sciences. Superior, near genius in verbal and language skills. Surprising flair for foreign languages. Above average in two dimensional artistic skills but genius in putting together three dimensional objects. Excellent hand-eye coordination. Poor eye-foot coordination - Just is prone to tripping over his feet...common to boys with big feet...he should outgrow that in due time. Dislikes vegetables and is uncomfortable around primates. In other words, he is psychologically normal. Somewhat introverted. He is more likely to follow along with a plan than to act out on his own. However, once he starts working on something, he tends to stubbornly stick to it. His ideal professions are in the fields of engineering, physical sciences, or other investigative professions where one has to keep on digging...I think of him more of a blackjack player than a poker pro."

Kim took in a depth breath.

If it was not for the rain delay (Kim coming home early from work), the rookies (virgins), being called up from the minors (under the legal age), would have had a grand slam (sex on the first date) instead of a double (kissing and feeling each other up) and worse probably been banned for life for gambling (having sex without a condom). If Kim was back in high school and the rookies in question where just her pals, Kim would be silently cheering them on except for the unsafe sex part. Now Kim wondering why this perverted baseball imagery was running through her mind instead of a plan to keep the hormones in check. She did not even like the game.

Kim made a mental note to apologize to her parents. Her dad was so right when he told there that grandkids are a parent's revenge. The problem was that she did not want to see any for the next twelve to fifteen years.

* * *

_Why doesn't he just put a round in the back of my head?_

After walking what seemed like hours, Marie was totally lost in the Russian wilderness. Her father had a _dacha_ (traditional country house) in the woods, but her experience actually living in the wilderness was zero.

During the Communist days, all the nine to fifteen year-old children who were not dissidents were enrolled into the Pioneers where the city dwellers would be exposed to country living during their summer vacations. It was not just for political indoctrination and free labor, but gave future Red Army inductees basic training in wilderness survival. But even in the old days, a girl such as her would not undergo such rigors...not if she was sick in the heart as Marie was.

Marie's outdoor experience was a little downhill skiing and once ice-skating on a real pond. She was not allowed to go out and play with the other kids because of her fragile health. As a very young child, she had scarlet fever and the doctor said that because of it she developed _mitral stenosis_. The mitral valve, separating the left atrium from the left ventricle was damaged, preventing proper blood flow. As a child and later a teen, Marie was in and out of the hospitals both in Russian and America for check ups and procedures to open up the damaged valve to encourage blood flow.

As a consequence, Marie never walked further than half a kilometer after the age of five. She had gone almost a week without her medication. Now only the terror of having her brains blasted out of her skull kept her moving. However, there was only so much terror could do to her weakened body. She could not keep up. The mountain air was too thin and her heart was overstrained. She found herself collapsing onto the rocky path.

* * *

Tim ran up to the fallen girl. Instinctively, he had the pistol in his hand trained at her, but she was not a threat.

_Crap, she's not breathing._

Tim stuck his ear next to the chest. The heart was going nuts, but even Tim knew that this was normal.

He turned her over unto her back and covered her mouth with his. Pinching her nose, he gave two deep breaths and waited for a couple seconds. Then he repeated the procedure for thirty seconds.

A part of him was telling him to stop...that it was better that she died this way. However, Tim could not stop. He could not let an innocent life slip out of his hands.

There was no improvement twenty seconds later. Tim checked the heart to see iif anything changed. The crazy heart had crease beating.

"Damn you, not on my watch. Breath bitch. Breath or I will kick your fat ass all the way to the Rockies."

He gave two rescue breaths and started chest compressions.

"Don't...mother fucking...die on me bitch" he screamed as he tried to get her body back from death's grasp.

It seemed like an eternity before she took that first breath.

Tim sat back wondering what the hell was going on.

* * *

Hearing is the last thing to go when one was dying.

Marie had close calls before. That was why one of her bodyguard had always medical training.

Her chest hurt in the familiar way. Her captor did not break the bone, but she knew that she had a big bruise.

He asked in Russian, "What the hell was that?"

However, now she knew that he was not Russian.

Even when she was dying, she could hear him cursing.

When one was stressed one instinctively swore in one's native language. Her father had told her stories of when he worked in the KGB first directorate trying to recruit agents in Britain. Being sick all the time, meant that her father had her home schooled. He hired the best tutors he could find to give his only child a world class education. However there were four areas that the took upon himself to teach her – English, politics, history, and a little bit about his year of service in the world of espionage during the last years of the Cold War. Her father taught her who to properly speak English with an English accent as his trainer taught him. She could swear like a sailor or hold a polite conversation with the Queen of England. Unlike many Russians, she did not make the mistake of dropping the articles. When she spent a year in England, her accent was strengthened to the point that many meeting her for the first time assumed that she grew up in London and was training to be a BBC broadcast journalist.

He was not Australian – she had run across plenty of Australians in her travels. He either had to be Canadian or American. However the eyes and his innate aggressiveness hinted that he was more likely an American. The accent was not New York or Southern, but in American they spoke differently in different areas. She found something out about her captor. Normally she would be cautious...keep her advantage a secret from him, but these were not normal times.

She spoke to him in limey English, "I know you are not a Cossack. You're accent and mannerisms are too good for you to be a mere criminal. You are an American spy. I have a heart problem and need my medicine or this will happen again. And no, I don't have a fat ass, I did not fornicate with my mother, nor am I a female dog in heat. I know you're not going to kill me, otherwise you would have let me die. What exactly are you going to do to me?"

She broke all the rules of the spy game that her father taught her save for the first rule – There are no rules out in the field.

* * *

i L'Amour, Louis. Last of the Breed. Bantam Books. 1987. That was the book that gave Tim the idea of walking to the east to get back home. It's a good read. 


	31. Joke

**Moving On**

**Jokes**

**By Pat Squared**

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**Warning!**

_According to the latest studies,_

_Not typing a review can result in_

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_quality stories._

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"I know you are not a Cossack. You're accent and mannerisms are too good for you to be a mere criminal. You must be an...American spy. I have a heart problem and need my medicine or this will happen again. And no, I do not have a fat ass, I did not fornicate with my mother, nor am I a female dog in heat. I know you're not going to kill me, otherwise you would have let me die. What exactly are you going to do to me?"

Tim Possible was struck dumb by that statement.

First, it was the first time that she actually spoke to him.

Second, she sounded like a limey right off the BBC with the Queen's proper English and all.

Third, she had totally lost her fear of him.

Fourth, he just realized that his life had gone some place so far beyond FUBAR - that hell seemed as benign as the Small World ride at Disneyland. She knew way too much about him. Given what she knew about him, her existence threatened everything he valued. The Russians had a habit of going after families. When some Soviet diplomats were kidnapped in the Middle East during the 1960's, the KGB Alpha Team merely kidnapped the relatives of the kidnappers and started cutting off body parts adn sending them out as a message. The diplomats were immediately returned and no one in the Middle East tried to kidnap a Russian for the 40 years.

Jim, mom, dad, Kim, his nephew Ronnie...the Russians would kill them all as an object lesson. The Russians would hack off the body parts of the ones they loved. He drew the pistol and pointed it at her face. However, he could not bring himself to pull the trigger.

_Come on you pussy, you have done this before. Killing is not a new life experience. Remember Monkey Fist. Remember Motor Ed, DNA Amy, Gill, Senor Senior Senior. You are doing this for Ron and Kim. You are doing this because Drakken made Ronnie grow up without a father. Pretend that she's Dave, your brother's fag lover. It's Dave the son of a bitch queer homo that fucks you brother up the ass every night. Do it._

Tim focused his eyes at the front blade sight. The rear notch and the target was slightly out of focus as teh perfict sight picture was meant to be. He cocked the hammer. Now all he needed was four pounds of force on the trigger to drop the hammer on the firing pin. The firing pin would strike the primer ensuring that a 60-grain .22-inch diameter copper clad lead projectile left the muzzle with a velocity of 750 feet per second.

A front shot was not preferable do to the amount of bone that the projectile would have to penetrate without deflection. A rear, side or quartering shot to the medulla oblongata was the most efficient since there was little chance of bullet deflection. Tim Possible intimately knew all these facts. Tim Possible had applied all these facts to terminate human lives. Tim knew that being only three feet away he could not miss. He controlled his breathing. He relaxed his arm. He aimed the pistol to deliver a clean shot. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger.

Tim couldn't.

"Shut the fuck up or I will..."

"Shoot me. I dare you to shoot me. I dare you to end my life as you ended Gregory Alexovich's life. Go ahead and blow my brains all over the woods. You saved my life. I doubt that you are going to kill me now."

Tim cursed the fact that this _amateur shrink_ was manipulating him like a puppet. He wanted to smack her, beat her, toss her down to the earth, and...

The image of her naked came to his mind.

_Get your brain out of your dick and back to the woods, Possible. Are you going to become some rapist bastard? It might be good, then all the convicts would line up to shank us up the ass with a broken broomstick. Just because your twin brother likes having things up his rectum does not mean you have to follow along._

Tim turned away in frustration and holstered the pistol.

"Why me, why the fuck do I get stuck in the shit hole of the universe and get stuck delivering the enema. Marie or whatever your name is...shut the fuck up. I am the only thing interested in keeping you alive right now. I stole twenty million euros of bearer bonds. I don't care if you are the _vors_ (Russian Mafia godfather's) own child, twenty million dollars will many any man reconsider family attachment. They wack one other for peanuts...why wouldn't they wack you for twenty million."

Marie just smiled weakly at his lost of control. She was holding out something on him and Tim had to find out.

"What are you laughing at, Miss Soon to be Sporting Electrodes on her Genitals? Do you thing having an intimate encounter with pliers and jumper cables to be foreplay? Do you even understand what I am telling you?"

Tim Possible knew that he was sounding like Kim on her worst PMS day.

She actually smiled back at him.

"I am Doctor Marie Ivanoa Romanov, doctorate in economics, daughter and only child to interior Minister Ivan Mikalovich Romanov. These bearer bonds are my father's personal property and he would willingly give that and more to the man who saves me from you. The _vors_ are lining up to rescue me so they can have my father's everlasting appreciation. Every police officer knows to find me unharmed will guarantee them the rank of colonel if not general and maybe even my hand in marriage and a chance at my father's fortune. Killing me would cost them a lot more than twenty million Euros. Killing me would earn them my father's eternal hatred.

"My father's childhood hero was Felix Edmundovich Dzerzhinsky, better known as Iron Felix. He is from the old school and quite willing to give you the grand tour of the Lubyanka (Old KGB headquarters where many dissidents perished in the basement cells during interrogation). My father is ex-KGB from the days of the Hammer and Sickle and would in your case bring them back. Not even Michal Eglevsky would risk having my father declaring war on the _vors_. _You are so dead, Cossack_."

There was _bad luck_ and there was _real bad luck_.

Tim Possible realized that he was some point so far past any quantification of the amount of bad luck he just stepped on. The twenty millions euros belonged to this strawberry blonds' old man. He had in his panic only kidnapped the daughter of the one person in Russian that even the sickest perverts in the sewers would avoid offending. Luck had bended him over and reamed him wider than the turning radius battleship going at flank speed.

_Where were the Chernobyl mushrooms(__1__) when you really needed one?_

He could really eat one right now.

* * *

It was agreed that Sister Bernadine getting the exploding toilet bowl treatment was the capstone to the elementary school prankster careers of the _Evil Siamese Twins_. 

The game plan worked and the pair were hanging out together again planning out their next scam. It would be harder. The sisters at Saint Sebastian's Catholic Grade School had given the brothers at St. Francis Xavier Middle School a detailed briefing about Violetta Lee's and Ronald Possible's lengthy history of troublemaking and inventive pranks.

The brothers running the school thus were not unprepared and so this scam had to be perfect.

The problem was how to do so in a manner that only the pair would really know what happened. With Ronnie's mom, Kim, pushing Ronnie into sports in a futile effort to keep him distracted, Violetta figured out that if the brothers even suspected that the pair was acting up, they would have Ronnie do calisthenics until he passed out from exhaustion. If Ronnie was exhausted, that meant less time for cuddling and Violetta would be damned if she let Ronnie be too tired for cuddling.

As for her, Tita 'Berta started talking to her _sifu_ (martial arts instructer) about entering Violetta into more wishu competitions which required a more intensive training schedule. Sifu Long was making her practice with new unfamiliar weapons that started appearing in the storage room. Instead of staff and _dao_, she was handed deer horns, sectional staves, and the rope dart and told to master the forms in time for the next competition in August. Two months to master three brand new weapons and forms. It would be impossible for most girls, but for Violetta Lee, the second she swung a weapon, it was like dealing with Ronnie. It became of part of her. Normally, she would race through and in two weeks ask for more weapons train. However to do so would set a pace so fast that she would not have any time to hang out with Ronnie.

Violetta knew that all eyes, 'rents and faculty, would be on the pair.

When their mothers enrolled the pair in their next school, the vice principal of discipline, Brother Francis even told them that they would be especially watched closely. If she was watched, Violetta could not run her most profitable scam - the _V&R Gaming Center_. She could not even risk selling candy and bubble gum. She could not do any of the numerous profitable schemes that she had in her head if she was watched like a hawk.

Violetta had to find something to distract the brothers or spend the next two years under the microscope until it was time to go to Middleton High School. It was a challenge. However, life would not be so fun without a challenge or two.

Violetta was normally the idea person in the pair, but Ronnie did have a great idea from time to time. This was the best one yet. Violetta was good with computers, but Ronnie learned his hacking skills from one of the undisputed masters, Uncle Wade.

Violetta looked over Ronnie's shoulder as he was finishing a program. It was a modified piece of spyware with a virus that specifically targets the antivirsus and antispyware systems that instructs them to ignore only Ronnie's programs. Then a second peace of software opened a small slit in the firewall and cunningly hide the data flow with other outgoing and incoming transmissions.

"So what are you going to do?"

Ronnie smiled, "What can't I do with this. I just got to install this into their computer. It will lose twenty five percent to one third of our absences off our permanent record after two months so no one they would remember the dates. It rounds up all the percentages in calculation so grades go up. On command it will not flag our cutting classes. It will also alter the payroll deductions upon my command for instant pay cuts if some teacher is acting up. It's my best work. It also will slowly corrupt the backup copies when they sync-up the drives. The data would be corrupted in a way that it looks like media breakdown. All with an AI designed to figure out if they are really running an application or a check so random checks don't tip off the system administrator. I can lock out the computers and do a lot of other things, but then they will know that something is definitely wrong."

Ronnie's program had exceeded any of Violetta's expectations. She did a spin and planted a kiss in her now _official_ boy friend's mouth. It was official in the school yard sense, she kissed him in front of the other girls and of course his face glowed red as usual. She even beat out flabby big bags, zit-faced Myra in the contest of which girl would have the first official BF. Not bad for a girl who just got braces put in a week ago.

Stage one was complete. Stage two would have to wait until school began

Violetta knew that her other schemes would required her to lay low for a while. Let another troublemaker step up and be noticed. Just pretend that the pair was maturing away from the scams and pranks and soon the brothers would be focused on another problem. Then they can fly beneath the radar to riches.

Violetta had accumulated a _war chest_ of five hundred dollars in each one of her five stashes. As a foster child, she was legally not allowed to have an independent savings account, a vehicle, or even get a job until she was eighteen. However, Violetta had the ability to work a scam so that it was very profitable.

Ronnie finished burning the software to the USB jump drive for later use.

Violetta looked outside. It was a beautiful summer afternoon and the mothers would worry if she and Ronnie stayed up in the room for too long. The pool was open. Besides Violetta just bought her first two piece swimsuit and could not wait to model it for her boy friend.

* * *

_A Chukcha and a Russian geologist go hunting polar bears. They track one down at last._

_Seeing the bear, the Chukcha shouts "Run!" and starts running back towards the camp._

_The Russian shrugs, raises his gun and shoots the bear._

_"Russian hunter bad hunter, however", says the Chukcha, "Now you haul this bear ten miles to the yaranga (tent) yourself!"_

Tim remembered hearing the Russian joke from one of the pan handlers. He was the Russian hunter and he got his polar bear. It was four in the morning and he found himself the fool that hooked a shark while floating around on an inner tube.

Tim could not kill her. He could not let her return back home and allow her to share what she know about him with her ex-KGB Interior Minister father. Either way he was well and truly fucked by fate. He had to string her along somehow, but they both knew the balance of power changed.

They were both resting in a cave. He remembered to reassemble the pistol so that the firing pin was in its proper place. Tim wondered just how he managed to foul everything he did in his short life. He had a copy all escrow transaction from the founding of the bank. He had the information that Wade needed to track down Drakken. He had everything he sacrificed his soul for and it was useless.

Marie was huddled up next to him for warmth. He was left with his thoughts. Tim looked at his weapon. He knew that Wade would be looking for him. There was one last option. He would have to do a dead drop, an appropriately ironic term since he would not be alive when Wade retrieved the information. Tim walked off into the woods to give his final message to the living.

* * *

One of Wade's computers chimed an alert. Wade scooted over in his push chair and examined the snapshot. On the satellite photo wade saw three markers. One for I am probably already dead, don't send anyone after me. One for dead drop. And the last indicating the direction and location. The symbols were unique and known only to Wade and the twins. 

Wade knew then that he had lost another friend. He had to tell Jim and informed him that this mission would merely be dead drop retrieval.

* * *

Marie Ivanoa Romanov woke up alone in the wilderness. The fire had long since ashed over and died. 

Marie was frightened. She did not have the wilderness survival skills required to survive. She could not just walk out. She did not know where she was and with the overcast, she could not even figure out which way was north.

_Good one, Marie. You just had to scare off the American spy. They probably pick him up already in one of the American's infamous invisible aircraft. What if there is a pack of wolves? Are your just going to command them not to eat you? Remember, the American had the gun. Even if he left it with you, you could not even get the gun to fire._

Worse, she did not have any more than a couple stolen blankets and a couple cans of food which was useless since he had the knife with the can opener. The best that she could hope for was the some hunter would stumble across her before the wolves did. Marie like many Russians grew up hearing ancient tales of man hunting packs of wolves. She did not want to be eaten. She wanted to wake up in her soft comfortable bed and have this only be a nightmare.

However in nightmares, one does not feel a sore back from lying crooked on the rocky ground. If someone told her that she was going to die alone after being kidnapped and abandoned by an _incompetent American spy_, she would have wonder what drugs the idiot was taking. Now it was like the moment she tried to kill herself in the cabin. She curled up into a little ball and wept wondering why God hated her so much.

She was useless out here. Back in the city, all she had to do was to follow the currency markets and predict movement. She just had to be right 51 of the time and she found that she had a natural calling in the field. Here, out in the wild, you had to be right all the time. The price of failure was death.

* * *

Tim Possible found himself being hugged, assaulted, and screamed at – all at the same time. 

The blond was screaming, "How could you leave me here to die? You could have been merciful and just put a bullet in my head."

She was embracing him with her left arms and her right hand slapped was swinging for his face. Tim did the only thing he could do - Pin her to the ground with his body so she could not hit or kick him.

"I will do anything. Just don't leave...leave me here. I will tell them you found me wandering. I will pretend that I can't remember. I promise...just don't leave me out here for the bears and the wolves to eat."

Tim use to thing that nothing could be worst that his sister with a really bad case of PMS. Now he found the topper. One spoiled Russian Minister's princess dropped in the middle of the wilderness.

He had to get moving out of the area. Hopefully by doing some backtracking and crossing his path he could lead any pursuers away from the dead drop long enough for someone to give Wade the photos.

"Marie, listen to me. We are going to get moving. Grab your blankets, shake them off, and roll them up. We are going to be walking for a while. If you are having any chest pains or can't breathe stop and rest. We got a long distance to go but we can take our time getting there.

"I might not be able to kill you, but if you try to alert anyone, I will have no choice but to kill them. I made the mistake of thinking of you as a person. I won't repeat it with the next human being I met. To me they will be an _it_ like your boss, Gregory Alexovich, was an _it._"

* * *

Jim did not want to believe it, but he could not deny the marks that his brother had left on the ground. 

Tim was...he was gone. Tim would not fume again at Jim's lifestyle choice. Tim would not attend another Christmas. Birthdays would not be the same since half of you would be forever missing.

Jim knew that he had to retrieve the information that his brother bought with his life. However, in a few days he would have to go to his parents and Kim to break the news. They deserve to know what his brother died for.

Jim cursed the fact that he was not there when his brother needed him most.

"Wade, send me in. I will spend seventy two hours on-site, and get out with the information. Don't tell anyone yet about Tim. I will be the one to break this to the family. When I come back with the information, just make sure that my brother's death will be worth it, okay."

Wade wondered how many more members of the Possible family would die because of him.

* * *

"Liszt, you know who this is. You have enjoyed eleven years of relative peace. You have done far better than I projected and you kept my little slut in her place. Does she still use mocha brown lip shade when she pleasures you orally?" 

Liszt did not know the name of his benefactor, but without the benefactor's good will he would have long been dead or worse imprisoned. Drakken did not want to return to prison. There would be no Shego to get him out. His benefactor was the first to inform him of the death of Shego.

The benefactor gave him enough to start up Liszt Industries and create a new identity. He even arranged to give Liszt Bonnie Rockwaller, as vicious in the boardroom as Shego was with the henchmen and willing to share her boss's bed. He gave him the service of that monster from Japan, the one that shattered whatever was left of Drakken's sidekick.

However, there was a price. Once in a while the benefactor called and demanded a service. Four times, Liszt had to do something. This was the fifth and as long as Liszt was still breathing it would not be the last.

A certain Russian minister had to be handled delicately. It had to look like a heart attack and a set of ledgers had to disappear. Drakken wrote down the name – Interior Minister Ivan Mikalovich Romanov would die of a heart attack brought on by grief for his missing child and the ledgers would vanish.

Liszt picked up the phone and called Bonnie Rockwaller, his Vice President for Special Projects, to handle the mess. Bonnie would be very efficient. She had to be for she knew that any failure on this level would result in the death of her son, Robert. A fine young man, a scholar-athlete, one of the top receivers coming out of America's high school footbal programs and the wet dream of any college seeking a trip to the bowl – It would be a sad shame to see such a talented young man suffer a debilitating stroke.

* * *

Note

(1) Russian joke - An old woman stands in the market with a "Chernobyl Mushrooms for Sale" sign.

A man goes up to her and asks, "Hey, what are you doing? Who's going to buy Chernobyl mushrooms?"

She tells him, "Why, lots of people. Some for their boss, others for their mother-in-law, others for their no good husband or lazy wife..."


	32. Idiot American Spy

**Moving On**

**Idiot American Spy**

**By Pat Squared

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It was a typical summer night in Moscow.

Russian Federation Interior Minister Ivan Mikalovich Romanov hated the city. A native of Leningrad, formerly and now once again, St. Petersburg, he hated Moscow and all it represented. St. Petersburg was his home. It was where his child lived. It was where he met his wife and raised a family. It was were he made his name and fortune. However to do his job he had to remain in Moscow.

From his years in the First Directorate, working as an illegal (Case officer working without an official cover and not protected by diplomatic immunity) in the ports of England gathering intelligence on Royal Navy operations and the vendors who supplied goods to the Royal Navy, Romanov knew that waiting was the only thing that any spymaster could do. A good spymaster did not micromanage his assets. Others who where better qualified and more knowledgeable about criminal behavior than he was were leaving no stones unturned in this investigation. A part of him wanted to pull the old skills out of retirement, but now his face was too well known to infiltrate the criminal underworld.

Besides here with his hand on the very short lease over the Russian security services, he had every official and mafia member searching for his daughter. Even the old goat, Michal Eglevsky, the cruelest of the _vors_ (godfathers) in the Russian mob knew that not to help would ensure that his organization would be instantly crushed.

There was no way that anyone could kill all the rats, but one could always reach a certain understanding. It was a game between the cops and the brigands played around the globe. _We will ignore the minor stuff most of the time as long as you behave_. However someone broke the understanding. One did not just up and kidnap his Marie. It was like invading Mother Russia just before the winter. And Romanov could be crueler that any Russian winter.

Marie was his miracle child.

His wife was believed barren and far too old to conceive when she finally got pregnant at forty five, but somehow Marie defied the odds. She survived a sickness that destroyed her mitral valve. She was smart, intelligence, courageous, everything that one could ask for in a child. She was his daughter and some fucking pervert was doing gods no what to his child.

Romanov came from a religious family, albeit one that had to hide their faith until the fall of the Soviet Union. Marie was a pious girl, a good girl, attended church regularly, and he did not understand why God allowed his Marie to be taken away from him. Marie left her medicine behind. Without it, she would only get sick. If the sickness lasted too long, her sickness would claim her.

Unlike the stereotypical Russian, Romanov was not a fan of alcohol. He would have a small drink when it was socially required and maybe one in a celebration. However, he was not a sauce as the British called it. A man was measure by how much he faces up to the world when things go wrong. A man did not crawl into a bottle to live in a world of self-denial. That lamentable Russian tendency is why it took 70 years too long for Communism to fail. Instead of facing the truth, the Russians crawled into a bottle of vodka. Tenacity, a virtue he learned from the older generation during his time in England, became his virtue and became the source of all his accomplishments.

Many men would drink vodka to face the certain truth that if they found his child she would be dead or be brutally raped. However, Romanov drank tea instead. He needed his mental faculties. Maybe he could not rescue his Marie, but he could make sure that the son of a bitch that took her learned about the biblical passage of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

All he knew was that the bandit went east towards the Ural Mountains. The Urals was the home of cities built during the Great Patriotic War to churn out weapons and military supplies for the Red Army. Once past the mountains was Asia, Siberia, a land that was harsh and beautiful. Any yet it had a dark history - 40 million Russians were sent to the east to the gulags. 10 million died there. It was so empty that one could live years without seeing a neighbor. If they could not find his child before she is taken past the Urals, odd were than no one would find her body.

The phone rang.

It was his rival Defense Minister Edward Edwardovich Boiarskii. He had all the divisions in the Urals mobilized. The official word was the troop would be practicing search and rescue techniques. However, instead of looking for a volunteer, they would be looking for his daughter. Five divisons, 40,000 men, the ranks of the criminal class, the entire state security apperatus were all looking for his child. And yet his child was still missing.

It was a good thing that his wife passed on five years ago. It would have killed her to lose their only child. He looked at the photo of a ten year-old girl trying on a pair of ice skates at the pond near his dacha.

"Daddy's coming to get you, Marie. Daddy's not giving up."

He sipped the tea, not tasting the poison.

Three minutes later, there was a pain in his chest that spread to the neck and shoulders.

Romanov tried to reach the button to summon his secretary but fell to the floor.

Ivan Romanov died a broken man. Despite all his wealth and power, he had lost the one thing he value above everything else. Without Marie, everything else was worthless. He wanted to be back in St. Petersburg one last time to see the eight draw bridges over the River Neva during the White Nights with his Marie sitting one more on his shoulders like they did when she was a little schoolgirl. His last thoughts were not of revenge, but wondering if he would meet his daughter in the afterlife.

* * *

Jim was landing in St. Petersburg's Polkovo International Airport when he heard the news of the Minister's death. It did not change his mission. The cache was near the Griboyedova canal near Nikolskaya square. 

Jim cursed the white nights. The sun did not set in the summer in St. Petersburg. On the same latitude as Helsinki, during the summer the sky never got dark. There would be no cover of darkness as he raided Tim's cache. Knowing Tim there would be a lot of stuff. Tim was the one who had made the plans and ensured that there was enough gear to kill a company fighting. Jim would go in armed with only a toothbrush and sometimes the toothbrush was optional.

Jim walked down the streets. Here he wondered if things would be different if he was not different. Dad had chest pains when Jim revealed his secret. Tim became distant.

Jim did not want to be different. He tried to conform. He had seduced girls in an attempt to make himself straight. He was the first of the twins to score with a girl. He was the first of the twins to have a steady girl friend. Every heterosexual milestone that did not have to do with maintaining one's virginity, Jim was the first to break.

However, Jim would wake up feeling empty. All the pussy in the world did not matter if it did not bring you happiness.

Dave just happened. In high school, the twins and Dave were tight. Like his legendary brother Brick, Dave was the quarter back of Middleton High School and the Possible twins were the tail backs. Back then they parties together, chased skirts together. There was not sign that either one of them swung the _other way_.

Dave like Jim had experience the emptiness of meaningless sex.

Jim was curse with the ability to score with women. Even now, females try to catch his eye. His little black book had names on six continents and forty countries. He would not be surprised if he had kids from one of his numerous one-night stands. However, there was no one with whom he wanted to settle down and raise a family.

Jim collided into Dave at JFK. Dave, coming off a divorce, had come in from England and Jim had come in from Berlin. They got smash and woke up in an airport hotel room naked in the same bed. It was perhaps the most nightmarish morning in Jim's life. Both believed that they were straight. Both wanted to believe that that night was just the result of too much alcohol. They vowed to keep that night a secret. Both grew up in Middleton, Colorado where despite the recent urbanization, life was still traditional. Even the Democrats were conservative. Flaming liberals and metro-sexuals need not apply. Fags stayed deep in the closet. Middleton would be familiar to the Cleavers save for mothers also had a career.

Jim and Dave both went on a spree tying to prove to themselves that they was not gay. However, both had come to a conclusion. It was one of the worst moments in their lives. They both believed that there was something wrong with them. In their loneliness, they found each other and worked out their issues.

The Flagg and Possible families were among the most respected in Middleton. Brick Flagg was a successful ESPN football commentator after a brief but spectacular career with the New England Patriots and later the Denver Broncos as a two-time Super Bowl-winning quarterback before a back injury forced him to retire. Roberta Flagg, Tim's first squeeze, was a certified financial planner and Certified Public Accountant who owned her own consulting firm. Brick's wife, Monique, is the CEO of Club Banana. Dad ran the Middle Space Center. Mom was one of the top neurosurgeons in the world. Kim is a senior prosecutor with the Colorado Attorney General's office. Jim and Tim officially worked under contract for the Department of Homeland Security and the Department of Defense as engineering consultants. Dave and Jim kept their relationship a secret for four years. When Dave and Jim finally gathered the courage to step out of the closet, they knew that it would shock their families. It was not easy to even accept that you were gay while everyone else was straight. It was infinitely harder to defy the unwritten rules of one's culture.

When Jim accepted who he was and step out, Tim became distant. Tim grew to dislike, even hate Dave. Jim watched Tim spiral out of control, going off solo on missions, pushing himself until the moment that his luck ran out.

Tim was hurting, somewhere alone in this land of alcoholic, suicidal authors. He had to finish the mission, but Jim knew that this would not be the last time that he would come to Russia. Even if it took him the rest of his life, Jim would be searching for his younger, by eight minutes, little brother. Somehow Jim knew that Tim was alive out there somewhere.

The cache was set up with Tim's annoying exact fussiness. Everything was so organized. Growing up if someone had to predict which twin would grow up to be gay, most would guess Tim. Tim was always the anal-retentive one. Weapons, GPS, a notebook computer with a biometric lock out. There were five thousand US dollars and twice that in local currency. There was a suitcase with the identity cards and gear of a Russian OMON warrant officer. And there were several of Tim's good luck charms - False coins with a high explosive core. Carefully placed, one can blow open reinforce steel doors and holes through concrete walls.

Jim carefully emptied the cache and put the contents into his car. He punched in the coordinates that Wade gave to him in Tim's GPS. Jim prayed that the information was worth it, but he knew that no information was worth the loss of his brother.

* * *

Bonnie Rockwaller breathed a sigh of relief when the ledgers were delivered to her desk by Federal Express courier. The assassin did her task perfectly. It looked like a cardiac arrest to the pathologists and today they were holding a state funeral for Minister Romanov. 

Bonnie hated her job. She hated her boss, Liszt. She hated herself for what she had become.

However, there was no place that she could turn to. Liszt had made very generous donations to key politicians on both sides of the aisle. Her idea to get the insurance contracts for government employees and the contracts for warehousing government data gave Liszt tremendous leverage. Her idea to hire retiring mid-level and senior law enforcement and military personnel gave him access to the type of government secrets that would guarantee him a presidential pardon. Her acquisition of several key technology firms ensured that no law enforcement department in North America and quite a few in Europe and Asian that did not have their communications and computer networks compromised. Liszt had dozens of private investigation firms scattered around the globe working overtime on gathering everyone's dirty laundry. She had made Liszt virtually untouchable by the authorities.

She had masterfully allowed him to penetrate anywhere that she could turn to for help. Going to the authorities is the same as signing the death warrant on her kid. However, seeing how her father bought off local law enforcement in her youth, she knew that the law treated the rich and powerful differently than the poor. Growing up, she had to learn that if you needed something done, the only person you could trust was yourself and even then you had to keep a pretty close eye.

Once she was so happy that she found a job that allowed her to raise her son where he did not have to find out just how low his mother sunk. She had hit rock bottom and was working as a high priced call girl when Liszt hired her. It was an opportunity. It was a chance to make a new life, even if she had to spread her legs for a man she loathed. It was not much of a sacrifice, since Bonnie was eight, her father and uncle took turns with her body before lending her out to other like-minded perverts. It was not much of a sacrifice when you have nothing you loved including yourself. Now she had a son. If her son would be okay, she would be the first to take a long drops attached to a short rope.

Bonnie knew that there was not golden parachute when she _retired_. She knew too much to be left alone. She had sullied her hands. Worse, Liszt did not have to tell her that if she failed, Liszt would do something far worse than killing her. He would send his monster to work over her son as he worked over dozens of little girls. He would remove Bonnie's tongue, eyes, and limbs so that she would be alive to mourn the lost of the only person she ever loved and not yet be able to communicate the secrets inside her head.

The only thing keeping Liszt from suffering a fatal accident was a certain fact - Liszt was not the one calling the shots.

Bonnie knew that he was given wide latitude, but Liszt answered to someone. She did not know who that someone was or how the orders came. All that would happen is that Liszt would suddenly order some outrageous thing and it was Bonnie's task to make it happen.

In high school, Bonnie hated Kim Possible. However, she could have told Kim what was happening and Kim would have done something to stop it. Now even if Bonnie could summon up the courage to take the risk, Kim had lost her spark when Ron Stoppable was killed. Otherwise, Bonnie did not know someone who was powerful enough to protect her and could be trusted not to cooperate with Liszt's puppets

Bonnie planned on killing Liszt soon

Ron Stoppable was someone special in Bonnie's life, even if she trashed him every day, back in high school. Ron's killer deserved to go to hell. However, Bonnie had to find out who her new enemies would be. She had to find out who was calling the shots and ordering the hits.

Bonnie had to destroy the ledgers today, but she needed to find out what made them so important that she had to risk killing the head Russian cop. She was smart enough not to use her personal photocopy machine. Drakken probably had it bugged like she had some of her minion's bugged.

Instead she called her secretary.

"Mary-Ann. I just have an emergency doctor's appointment and have to get ready for tonight's charity ball. If anyone but the boss calls, tell them I am out. If the boss calls, tell him that I have a doctor's checkup and will be at his place at four. Page me and I will call back as soon as possible."

Bonnie waited for her secretary to leave. She opened up her phone and called the one person that she trusted her secrets to.

"Tara...It's Bonnie. I need you to clear off you schedule this morning. I need to talk. It's important. I found something in the shower this morning."

Tara was her best pal. When Bonnie was alone and pregnant, Tara let her crash even Bonnie was a mean hormonal ball. Now Tara was her doctor. Liszt if he checked would find that Bonnie went to have a mammogram. All the records would support it. There would even be an X-ray. Bonnie would make a copy of the ledger on Tara's photocopy machine and hide the copy among her other hidden files.

Tonight, she would hand Liszt the ledgers. Liszt would hand them to his boss. Robert, her son, would be safe a little while longer while his mother would try to see just how far the rabbit hole goes.

* * *

Tim saw the lights of a small town up ahead. Looking at his _traveling companion_, he knew that she needed urgent medical attention. However, to be seen was to be caught. Tim knew that no one could hold out from a good interrogator once they got to work. He knew that to be caught would resulting with his family being put on a death and dismemberment list. 

Marie Ivanoa Romanov was a study in contrasts. She had a weak heart and yet she was full of fight. She had to hate him and yet she did not take advantage of her opportunity to kill him. Women's liberation never made it big in Eastern Europe. Things were more traditional, and yet Marie acted more like his mother and sister than the typical Russian female.

It was slow going over the mountains. With Marie's conditions the thin mountain air killing her. Several times he had to carry her on his back to avoid a repeat of her near death experience. He had just set her down and started to rest.

"Don't bite your lip like that."

"Why?"

"Your face's like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle when yah do that."

Every time Marie opened her mouth and spoke to him in English, Tim was more convinced that what separated the Brits from the Americans was a common, mutually unintelligible language. Her English was far better than his Russian, but he had difficulties trying to translate her incessant use of the British slang.

"Okay Marie. Tonight we are going to get some supplies. I hope that you remember the names of your meds, cause I'm not a doc like my...Just remember, no trying to escape me or go get help. Otherwise, I will kill them and their blood will be on your hands."

_Anymore slips of the tongue and you might as well hand her your driver's license._

"Feck off, yah sodding arse. Stop staring at me like that. Your peppers are going to pop out. Just cause I'm on your sticky wicket does not mean you get an all access pass."

_Definitely a different language. No American girl says I am on your sticky wicket unless she really is trying on your sticky wicket._

Tim laughed.

"What so funny?"

Tim's face glowed red.

"All I said was, 'Just cause I'm on your sticky wicket does not mean you get an all access pass.' I'm serious. I will claw out your peepers if you try anything funny. Turn around. I got to sign my pants."

Tim was laughing hysterically.

"American's. How we ever lost the Cold War, I don't know? Would you please mind turning around? I got to sign my pants."

"What the hell does signing the pants mean, because I got lost trying to translate your sticky wicket pun? Why don't you speak in Russian, because you definitely don't speak understandable English. What does signing the pants men anyways?"

Marie clenched her fist.

"I am doing to drop a brown biscuit. You know, number two. Shit. Use the loo. I need you to turn around. It's not like I can run a marathon you know."

Marie started uttering choice curses as Tim turned around.

* * *

It is was not her life, Marie would begin to think that she was staring in a Cold War era Soviet propaganda comedy spoofing the American CIA. Being kidnapped by a bumbling American spy who does not even understand English let alone figure out how to get out of Russia would be an instant hit. If she was half as imaginative as fate, she would be making millions in her own right as a Hollywood comedy script writer. 

The part that Marie was trying to figure out is why didn't he just disappear in the city. It was so easy to disappear in St. Petersburg. The Americans and British had to have some safe houses in St. Petersburg. Marie knew that the Russian intelligence services had safe houses in every major city in the world. The Americans couldn't that dumb, despite having their spy agencies and military being penetrated repeatedly by the KGB. He could be back in American and breed with some airhead to produce more bumbling, idiotic American spies. She could go back to her old life, albeit with more protection.

She hated what he did to her. He tortured her with his presence. He was the enemy and yet she could not bring herself to pull the trigger. She thought of herself as a strong personality and yet he got her to the point were she actually tried to kill herself that night in the cabin. The angels were looking out for her by making sure she could not get the gun to fire off.

_What does not kill me will only make me stronger!_

She remembered reading that quote somewhere. She had survived the worst and having survived gained strength.

This American spy tried to break her spirit. This American spy tried to destroy her soul. She vowed to break and destroy him. She vowed that before she was done, he would be her captive. Russian women generally were mild, family oriented women, but you scorn this one...you stood better like surviving a Russian winter naked.

The American was stupid. If he did not know that he was on a sticky wicket (difficult situation), then his superiors put him out in the field for comic relief. American President Reagan had to be great actor ever to convince the old regime to give up, otherwise with Americans soldiers like this, even the French could defeat the Americans.

* * *

Kolva. 

For the first time in a week, Marie knew were she was. Kolva was north of Solikamsk. Solikamsk, the historical salt cellar of Russia. All she had to do was get away and go south. With 106,000 Russians, there would be plenty of police to protect her from the bumbling American spy.

However the American did not bumble about all the time. He watched her carefully. Raiding a doctor's office, she found some of the medication and a book on drugs. She put it in a canvas bag he liberated.

However, the American was not perfect. She stole a felt tip pen.

Citing the need to use the restroom, she unrolled the toilet paper roll and wrote a few words.

_Marie Ivanoa Romanov. 7 days after kidnapping. Kidnapper armed with silenced pistol. American. 180-185 cm. Athletic build. 75-80 Kg. Brown spiky hair. Redish tint to facial hair. Blue eyes. Not yet touched. Robbery, ransom not the motive. Don't know more. Contact police and my father. Heading east for now. Tell dad I miss him very much. He'll repay you for the stolen goods._

Marie did her business and then flushed down the pen with her waste. She prayed the message would get to her father soon.

Her kidnapper was there with a set of car keys. That meant he was going on the road and therefore would be much easier to track. As long as she kept her head, she would survive this ordeal. With luck, she would one day be able to tell her kids and grandkids about the idiot American spy who tried to kidnap her and how she beat him.

* * *

Jim looked at the bearer bonds and the film cassettes. These would be the last two things that his brother would give to him. He vowed to not let his brother suffer in vain. 

Somewhere out there, his brother was dead or running for his life. Tim did not trust dead drops. He would always deliver things himself. Jim wanted to go east and find his brother, but he first had a job to do. He had to get the information to Wade and then tell the family what happened.

Jim got in his car and drove west towards Moscow. Wade had a contact in the American embassy who would use the diplomatic bag to bring the stuff home. Jim would just travel home.

His brother would have to wait. Nevertheless, Jim vowed to return soon.


	33. Running Away

**Moving On**

**Running Away**

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

The alarm went off in Wade's ears.

"What the..."

Wade looked at the automatic translation popping up on his screen.

_0734 Moscow Time_

_To: Headquarters_

_From: Senior Militia Colonel G. Nimoy, Perm Militia Headquarters_

_RE: Romanov, Marie Ivanova_

_Dr. Fredor Penszenky, Kolva, Perm, found a message reportedly from kidnapping victim Marie Ivanova Romanov on a toilet paper roll. Signs of break in and theft of heart medication suggest that this is not a prank as the fact that Marie Romanov's heart condition was not released to the general public. Canine units are searching the vicinity of Kolva. However, Dr. Penszenky military surplus 2004 GAZ-2975 TYGR Mark I license plate R-459-PR-59 was stolen. Vehicle is white with large red crosses. All militia commands in Perm east of Kolva establishing road blocks and has suspect description._

_Inspectors are conducting investigations and local canine team are looking for other signs of the kidnapper's presence. Inform all airport and port militia units of kidnapper's description._

_Message follows:_

_START OF MESSAGE_

_Marie Ivanoa Romanov. 7 days after kidnapping. Kidnapper armed with silenced pistol. American, 180-185 cm, Athletic build, 75-80 Kg. Brown spiky hair. Reddish tint to facial hair. Blue eyes. Not yet touched. Robbery, ransom not the motive. Don't know more. Contact police and my father. Heading east for now. Tell dad I miss him very much. He'll repay you for the stolen goods._

_END OF MESSAGE_

_IMAGE FILE ATTACHED_

Even being a super genius, Wade did not think in terms of the metric system outside what was necessary for electronics. No one who grew up in America did. 182 centimeters divided by 2.54 centimeters per inch is about 72 inches and 80 kilograms multiplied by 2.2 pounds per kilogram is 176 pounds. Toss in the brown spiky hair, blue eyes, and athletic build – Tim was still alive.

However, now with Tim's description being broadcasted all over, everything was spiraling out of control. He wanted to tell Jim, but Jim was right now over the North Atlantic at an altitude of 34,000 feet on his way back to JFK in New York.

Wade had a license plate number. However to task a satellite to look for a specific license plate would only make things worse than it was before. Most of the American satellites were focused on the Middle East and that 'stans, the former Central Asian Soviet republics. The other two were tasked to keep an eye on the Russian wheat harvest and military installations. He would have to hack into the appropriate satellite and pray that they were lucky enough to fly over taking photos.

Suddenly Wade had an epiphany. The Russians would task any satellite flying overhead to search for the vehicle too. Wade had to blind the Russian's eyes in the sky for at least a day, maybe two. By then any fuel would be exhausted and Tim would have abandoned the vehicle.

Wade had not gone head to head against the Russian computer security folks for a while. Although they might not always have the latest technology, the Russians hackers were quite good. Especially if they call in a certain lady Wade had long since nicknamed the Grand Ice Queen. She was one of the few hackers that he considered a challenge.

_Let the hacking war begin. _

_

* * *

_

The suspect description went over the police radios. What the police did not know and the owner in his haste forgot to tell the authorities was that due to his position, one of the police commanders gave him a spare radio so that Doctor Penszensky could more rapidly respond to search and rescue calls from the local authorities.

The radio barked off. Marie was exhausted asleep in the back. Tim was driving.

The vehicle he could understand. The second the owner missed it, the call would have gone out. However, they got his description. Within a few minutes, Tim heard about the message left behind on the toilet paper roll.

_Christ, just kill her. She is going to get you killed. They now know what you look like and the fact that you're an American. You should have just killed her at the bank._

Tim immediately stepped on the accelerator and floored the vehicle. If the bumpy ride woke her up and she could not rest, it was her fault anyways. Roadblocks take time to set up and besides Tim did not expect to drive through the towns. Thankfully, the former Russian army vehicle was built for this kind of abuse.

* * *

Jim wondered just how he was going to explain Tim's disappearance to his family. Everyone would want the details. The details of what Tim and he did to find Ron's killers would destroy his family. In their quest for vengeance, the Tweebs had just about broken just about every universal law. Murder, torture, arson, kidnapping, cuddle bunny abuse, espionage, bribery, theft, money laundering, counterfeiting, every crime that did not involve compromising the purity of the local animal population or sexual assault.

However, the family would not believe that Tim was taking an indefinite vacation. He was expected back in time to take Ronnie camping later this summer. There was no way that Jim could pretend to be Tim. Maybe outsiders could not tell them apart, but the twin scam did not work on family since Jim and Tim were babies.

Jim picked up his phone and called Dave.

"Dave, it's Jim. I am coming in from New York. I need you to call my parents and Kim. Tell them that I have something they need to hear and it won't be pleasant. Tell them I will come over as soon as I land. Don't worry. I left the Toyota in long term parking so I got a ride."

Dave wondered what was wrong.

"Keep it under your hat - Tim's in big trouble, real trouble, and he is in a place were the Miranda warning goes, _Scream all you want, it won't bother us at all_."

_Your brother is somewhere where everyone wants his head on a platter and all you can do is come up with some really bad jokes. You must be the brother of the year. _

_

* * *

_

It was midnight and the Evil Siamese Twins were lying on the roof of Ronnie's home star gazing. It was a tradition the pair did since they were nine.

"What is it Vee?"

"Just thinking..."

"What about?"

Violetta rolled over facing her best friend since Pre-K.

"Us. How we got together? I mean if your mom did not walk in with you just after Tita 'Berta abandoned me in Pre-K we would not be pals. I would have bitten some other lady in the legs and I would be pals with that kid. I don't think your mom's quite forgiven us for biting her legs."

Ronnie remembered the incident quite clearly.

"You were always a bad little girl. Remember the song."

Violetta smiled.

"I hate you...stu...stupid bitch. It beats having a dumb boy band song for our theme song."

Violetta rolled over so that her chin was on Ronnie's chest and gave him a hug.

"If sah...something bad happens, would you be willing to leave Middleton with me?"

"Yes...sure. Why?"

Vee rolled over so that she was on top of him.

"I just wanted to know...You have a family. I'm just a foster kid. I lucked out that Tita 'Berta was willing to be my foster mom. However, the agency can yank me away anytime and put me in a home far away. I won't sta...stay in a home, Ronnie. I know I can't make you run away with me, but I don't want to be alone on the road."

Ronnie hugged his best pal.

"I promise that you won't be alone."

Violetta sealed Ronnie's promise with a kiss.

"Thank you, Ronnie."

_I know his mom won't let him if he wanted to. Besides, I am not letting him come with me._

However hearing his words made her feel good inside.

Violetta knew that Tita 'Berta had diabetes and high blood pressure. She was taking a lot of medications every day. Tita 'Berta was in her fifties and with her condition, she might not be around much longer.

Vee had started preparing her runaway stash. It was not much – It did not have to be much. An old hunting knife, a blanket, a jacket, money, two large Smarty Mart boxes of meal replacement bars, some pepper spray she stole from her Tita Lori, some hand tools she stole from the janitor's closet at school, and a copy of the master key to Saint Sebastian's Grade School. She knew where she could hide and they wouldn't find her even with dogs. Violetta had a shopping list before her kit would be complete.

The only thing that would be missing was a supply of her medications. Violetta knew that drugs they fed her to prevent her body from breaking down were only obtainable from a hospital and her meds were not a standard formulation, but an older one that had to be made by one of the pharmacists at the hospital where her mother did some work. There was no way that she could get them without being caught. If anything happen, she would run away and be dead in a couple weeks. She did not want Ronnie's last memories of her be watching her slowly die from the withdrawal.

Violetta wondered how Ronnie would remember her if she ran away. Would he forgive her for not taking him with her? She would remember all the times they got in trouble. It seemed that the moment things got interesting; they would always get into trouble. Violetta remembered the time that she and Ronnie were behind the bushes.

Violetta had an idea.

"Come with me."

Violetta and Ronnie silently moved off the roof and back into his room. Knowing Ronnie, she reached under his mattress and found his Playboy Magazine.

"What are you doing?"

"Wondering what you read when I'm not with you?"

Ronnie's face glowed red. Violetta put the magazine back.

"You know that your mom will find it when she decides to make your bed. Besides there's no reason to be embarrassed. Not after that time behind the bushes."

Ronnie was so...Ronnie. Despite her best efforts to teach him how the world worked, Ronnie was a good boy who if it were not for Violetta would be such a straight arrow that Violetta would puke just to meet him.

"I remember."

Violetta pushed Ronnie down into his bed and removed her top. Ron's brains turned to mush as she sat down next to him and put his hand on her breast.

Violetta crawled into bed with him. Soon his mouth was over her nipples, gently sucking them. Violetta closed her eyes as he slid his hand down there. She pulled down her bottoms and guided his hands to the place that only her hands went before.

She knew that they should not be doing this. It was against all the rules. It was violating the understanding she had with Tita 'Berta. However, she reasoned that as long as she was not caught and he did not put his thing in her and get her pregnant they could probably get away with this.

She bit her lip as he somehow instinctively figured out just how to attack her self-control.

She suppressed a moan as her body surrendered to Ronnie's fondling. It was different than when she would touch herself down there.

Violetta knew to continue would mean the lost of her virginity. She wanted to go further, but knew that to go further would result in losing everything she valued. She had to stop it now. She kissed Ronnie, put on her clothes, snuck back to her house, climbed up to her window, and snuck into bed without being caught.

Violetta cursed being thirteen. She wanted to be eighteen. Then she and Ronnie could have their own place. They would no longer have to sneak out in the middle of the night to cuddle. Next week was Ronnie's week to sneak over, but Violetta figured that she should just on sneaking over to Ronnie's. The boy was clumsy at times and the last time was too close a call.

At thirteen, everyone believed that you were still a little child and yet you had to suffer things like periods and love. It was not like she was retarded like the kid living down the lane. She tested out at 10th grade in most of her subjects. With a little studying she could pass the high school exit exam. She was already smart enough to go to high school. However, to do so would mean that she and Ronnie would be split up.

No one understood her – How could they? They all had parents and did not have to live in fear that they would one day be taken away from everything they knew...just because the system said so. She wanted to be eighteen. Then way no one could take her away from the place she called home and her best friend.

* * *

Marie Romanov awoke to find that the kind side of the American was gone, replaced by a violent, angry creature.

"They found your message. It's all over the radio. The police all now know what I look like. You have just cost me my life, whore. Any kindness that I ever felt for you is gone, bitch. If I see any police or searchers, I won't kill you, but before they can save you, I will hurt you so bad that you will wish I did. If you die in the wilderness, the bears can eat you and shit you out for all I care. One more stunt, princess, and daddy's little princess will live the rest of her short life in agonizing pain. We are out of diesel fuel so you are going to just have to walk. Don't expect me to carry you."

The American bundled her up and pushed her forward.

"Go towards the sun until I tell you otherwise."

Marie wondered what he was now going to do to her. Her captor seemed to have two sides. For a while she saw the kinder side and underestimated his potential for violence. Now she knew that she was seeing the side that killed Gregory Alexovich...the side that would hurt her.

An hour later, Marie fell to the earth struggling to breathe.

Instead of checking on her health, he kicked her in the side.

"Move your fat ass. I am not falling for your pranks. I am going to make you move until it kills you. One more hour before I let you rest."

He punctuated his anger by kicking her in the rear forcing her to hit the hard earth face first.

Somehow, Marie staggered back up to her feet. She had angered him and now he was just giving her a taste of just how bad that her life could get. For the first time, she acknowledged to herself that her life would never return to normal.

Marie stopped thinking. She had to keep moving or he would hurt her. Unfortunately in her condition, running away was not an option.

* * *

A phone call was made. The call was recorded.

"Where is the subject now?"

"On a flight to Middleton, Colorado. Do you want him arrested?"

"Too risky. Besides we can't risk alerting the Possible's to our presence. Let the Movement for the Liberation of the Holy Land take the credit. They will take care of the threat. Just make sure that the operative get his forty seven virgins."

With a phone call, the Possible's would lose another loved one. The lost would hurt the project, but not set it back. For now the Possible's were just a secondary line. The Controller already had what the Project required.

The Coordinator hung up the secure phone. It was time to plan the next moves. Things seemed to be falling into place. The project was on schedule. Mistakes were made and the necessary lessons were learned. Field testing was the most dangerous threat for out in the field once could not control all the variables, and yet proceeding without verification would be even more risky.

The Coordinator typed a message into the computer. The computer then converted the text into binary code and hid it in a graphics file.

_Achmed, Yosef. May Allah's blessings be upon you and your family. I have located an American counterintelligence operative with critical information on our future operations. He will be landing in Middleton, Colorado at 7:30 A.M. MST. His vehicle, a black 2012 Toyota Tacoma pick up, Colorado light truck plates 314-GXT, is parked in long term storage lot 4-E. The Zionist lackey must not be allowed to report to his superiors. Use a car bomb and make sure that he can not interfere with the jihad. Our man will receive his reward in paradise. The infidels cannot know about our penetration into their operations. God is great. With our faith and Allah's blessings soon we will see the end of the Zionists and their American lackeys._

The Coordinator knew that the issue would be resolved without difficulty. It was time to figure out how the compromise happened. However, the Coordinator could not just overtly investigate without blowing the whole operation. At least until the Possible threat was eliminated. Then his organization will be able to hide his probe among the flurry of investigators.

One of the Possible Twin's would be killed. The other somehow got information that could unravel the whole operation, but with the itchy trigger fingers of the Russian police the other would soon be dead. The incriminating ledgers were already destroyed. Everything was going as it should be. Sometimes things fell in one's lap. Other times required sacrifices. This was one of these times.

The Project was back on track. It was time to contemplate the possible unintended consequences and eliminate any potential trouble spots.

It was time to reassess the plan and the tools one used to get things done. Liszt, to his credit, moved fast on the Coordinator's request and expedited the assassination of the Russian Interior Minster Romanov within forty-eight hours. The Russians were too busy chasing the other Possible twin to figure out that the heart attack was induced. However, the compromise definitely occurred before Liszt got his marching orders.

_What cause the Possible Twins to examine this particular bank? The old man who handled the ledgers was dead. And old man Romanov did not care about thirteen year-old transactions. The Possible's were not forensic accountants or Treasury investigators. However, they have access to one of the best tech gurus alive today._

It was time to rid the world of a certain meddlesome computer geek. Wade Lode had to go no matter how often he was a help in the past. He was once an asset. An unknowing asset, but a great asset nevertheless. However, Lode had become a liability to the Project. Liabilities were dealt with severely and the ledgers were always zeroed.

The boss checked the status of the other Project _assets_. Once the ledgers are zeroed the Project will continue unimpeded.

Soon it would be time to field test the two latest assets. The Project Committee had high expectations for these two.


	34. Another Gold Star

**Moving On**

**Another Gold Star**

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

The last images of James Timothy Possible were captured by a traffic monitoring camera set just outside the airport terminal. They captured him getting onboard the shuttle to the long term parking lots.

The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms would later report that the suspect or suspects used 500 grams (approximately a pound) of Semtex, a Czech-made military grade cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine and pentaerythritol tetranitrate or RDX-PETN based plastic explosive. With a detonation velocity of 8,750 feet per second and so stable that not even small arms fire can cause detonation, it was beloved of militaries and terrorist organizations world wide.

Semtex is perhaps the best plastic explosive in the world.

The styrene-butadiene rubber binder was the secret to creating a better consistency than its American counterpart, C4. It feels like Play Dough and has no smell. The military version is also undetectable by dogs and airport security devices, and after it left Stanislav Brebera's laboratory in 1968, Semtex became the favorite explosive of terrorists from Northern Ireland to the Middle East and North Africa. This lot was manufactured during the waning years of the Cold War. Even though the manufacturer literature stated that the shelf life was twenty years, the forty seven year-old explosive used in the attack turned out to be every bit as effective as the lots coming out of the factory today.

Today was Semtex's terrorist debut in the United States.

Just down the street from the victim's parent's home, the suspect triggered a cellular phone based remote detonation device. The device triggered two industrial blasting caps stolen from a construction site in Nevada. The blasting caps detonated triggering the Semtex. The Semtex was covered one side with stainless steel bearings and the other with a steel plate similar to that used in a US claymore mine. The device was placed under the driver's seat so that the blact would be directed upwards. The bearings were launched through the seat instantly killing the driver.

The ATF report was brutally cold and dispassionate. The actual event was gruesome. The entire Possible family with the exception of Tim Possible witnessed the gruesome aftermath.

* * *

In California, firefighters from the Glendale Fire Department found the body of Wade Lode after extinguished a fire in his home on the corner of Glencoe and Verdugo Road. According to arson investigators and the homicide detectives of the Glendale Police Department, Wade Lode was stabbed in the base of the skull with a 9-inch triangular thrust dagger prior to the setting of the fire. Prior to ignition, the inside of the building was liberally coated with a homemade concoction of soap, Styrofoam, benzene, magnesium, and gasoline to produce a gasoline-gel compound similar to that of Vietnam-era napalm.

Any other forensic evidence was destroyed in the 1,500 – 1,800°C flames.

* * *

Global Justice Dr. Betty Director and retired Japanese National Police Inspector Izu Akira were helping newly-weds Richard and Yori Yamaguchi moved into their new house. The injuries that Hirotaka inflicted on the pair prevented them from ever returning to active field status. Richard used his law degree and FBI experience to get a deputy prosecutor position with the local US Attorney General's office and Yori got a position with the local high school as a Japanese language instructor and girls track couch.

Fate perversely made sure the couple was moving down the street from the Mister and Misses Doctor Possible when the car bomb detonated. The moving van shielded the four from being killed or injured by flying steel ball bearings and metal fragments. The neighbor across the street was not so lucky. Mr. Thomas Maxwell Hopkins, age 56, father to two and beloved grandfather, was mowing his lawn when the explosion launched glass and metal fragments. He would die on his way to the local hospital from a cardiac arrest brought on by blood loss and shock.

The presence of Dr. Director near the blast and the Possible Twins links to unnamed government agencies would only complicate the investigation. Even Kim Possible had her share of enemies. Super villains had long memories and so did many of the hundreds of criminals that Kim successfully prosecuted. Any one of the three could be the intended target and all three had a long list of people who would love to see them dead.

* * *

Colorado Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Lori Zimmer was told to put the MID-killer on the back burner and focus on the car bombing case. She understood why. The first twenty four hours are the most critical time for the investigation. Ninety percent of solved cases were solved in the first twenty four hours. The MID-killer was on a hiatus and there was nothing much she could do but rehash through boxes of files and interview victim's relatives again. Lori Zimmer did not like putting her personal case on hold, but she knew that the car bombing was her first priority. She had to be strong, commanding from the go otherwise the other cooperating agencies would ramrod her into providing coffee and donuts while the feds pattered around. She knew that if she was pushed around from the beginning by the feds and locals, her skills and her abilities would be ignored in the later parts of the investigation. Just because she hated interagency politics did not mean that she was not good at it.

First thing was to protect the scene and not let everyone trample the evidence. The lab folks were professionals and knew how to collect the evidence so that no attorney could get it through out. What she did not want to happen was let some hot-shot fed break the chain of custody. Everything had to be perfect for in a bomb case, the smallest piece of evidence could be the smoking gun.

The first call was to a judge that Zimmer knew since she was a rookie and the judge was a new prosecutor fresh out of law school. The warrant would allow Zimmer and police to search a seventeen hundred foot radius for any bomb debris. The number came from an ATF chart on the blast radius from a sedan sized car bomb. With the faxed warrant in her hand, Zimmer took over one of the biggest homicide investigations in her career.

* * *

Tim Possible woke up crying.

He did not know why, but he felt something rip his guts apart. As he staggered awake, he found himself unable to remember what happened.

This was not new to Tim. Since he tortured and killed Montgomery Fiske, there was not a night that he was not cursed with nightmares. He had experienced it all. Weapons not working, his enemies working over him as he worked over them. Even the death of his family was a recurring theme.

As usual the nightmares would not stop, but this was the first time he actually felt pain in his nightmares.

He looked over to see a whimpering Marie Romanov tossing and turning in her sleep.

Tim wiped his tearing eyes. Something was horribly wrong, but Tim did not know what specifically. Besides if he had to list everything wrong with his current state, he would be in his eighties before completing the list.

Tim closed his eyes. He had to get some rest for tomorrow, he had to put more distance between himself and the hunters. They would know the land. They would have rifles and modern communications. He just had a suppressed .22 pistol, a knife, and an unwilling traveling companion with a heart condition.

_Damn that broad. Her message now got them all in the same place._

What Tim did not know was that because there were so many police who responded that the scent trail was muddied up so bad that the canines were useless. The police were now trying to recruit the local hunters. It was summer and the animals were still too skinny. Hunters primarily worked in the fall when the animals were fat in preparation for the Russian winters. Some took on the job for the season. Now these hunters would look for two legged game.

* * *

Ronnie seemed to be the only one in the Possible family that had some sense of rationality.

When Uncle Dave told the family of what Uncle Jim said about Uncle Tim, everyone went berserk. Kim immediately tried to contact Wade, but there was no response. Four hours later, a Middleton police detective informed Kim that Wade was murdered in his home in Glendale, California.

Having lost his father before he was born, Ronnie now had to deal with losing all his uncles. Uncle Wade had taught him about computers. Uncle Tim had taken Ronnie to the range and taught the young boy how to shoot. Uncle Jim had gave some of the notebooks that Tim and he used to record their experiments and share some advice on how to make chaos. Now as the last of the Possible males, Ronnie knew that he would have to pick up on the mission his uncles were doing. Ronnie vowed to hunt down and kill the killers. Ronnie had the first name on his list. Drakken killed his father. That he knew for sure because Uncles Jim and Tim promised to never give up the hunt for the _blue skin freak_. Now he added another series of names under the category of person or persons unknown. In due time, Ronnie would find the names and kill them in front of their families as they killed his uncle in front of his.

Ronnie knew where his grandfather put away his father's GLOCK 27 pistol. His grandfather had a couple firearms that were past down through the family. Some were just hunting rifles and shotguns. Others had another meaning for the Possible family - A Colt M1911 .45 ACP semiautomatic pistol that was never returned back to the army by his great-great grandfather at the end of World War I, a M1929 Thompson .45 ACP submachine gun that was not returned at the end of World War II by his great grandfather and kept in direct violation of the Gun Control Act of 1934, a M1903 Springfield .30-06 rifle his great-great grandfather used in the first World War, an M1 Garand .30-06 that his great-grandfather used in Korea, and his father's GLOCK.

Ronnie's mom, Kim hated firearms. Nevertheless, the Possible's were no strangers to the gun, or to using the gun. Ronnie knew that his mother could not pull the trigger when she had the opportunity to kill his father's killer. A part of him hated her for being so weak. Something inside of him knew that he was able to pull the trigger and take a man's life. In that, he was his father's son. From now on, he would push himself to shed his mother's weak way and be more like his father and uncles were.

Ronnie knew that one day he would retrieve his father's GLOCK and pick up where his uncles left off. Now he was too young to go off and hunt on his own. However, Ronnie vowed to master the art of the gun, the art of the man hunt, and the art of the kill. One day, he would go off on the hunt. His youth was ripped away by the blast that killed his uncle. What was left was already congealing into something that would horrify his mother. Ronnie would not take any prisoners nor would he accept surrender.

While his mother and grandparents wept, Ronnie went do to the basement.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, he touched the spinning lock of the gun safe where his father's pistol was held. He knew the combination. Not because his grandfather told him, but because his grandfather had a habit of talking to himself when working on something. Six – forty seven – thirty eight. Ron somehow remembered those numbers. However, this was not what he was looking for.

In the back corner were the photo albums. In them was a certain photo. His father and two uncles were wearing Halloween costumes. Ronnie found and removed the negative. He placed it in a spare envelope and put the envelope in his wallet. He put the photo album back in its proper place.

Among some of the other stuff in the room was a hand woven banner. On it were three gold stars and two blue stars. The gold stars represented the number of family members who died in combat, the blue meant how many were serving. Once his grandfather told him that his father was the only one of three brothers to survive the war. One graduated from West Point went into the army before the war and was lost in the Philippines fighting in Bataan and Corregidor against the Japanese invaders. One was in the Navy and was lost in the Pacific when his submarine was sunk. The last one was lost in fighting at Bastogne in the Battle of the Budge. The two blue stars represented Sergeant Earl Wayne Possible, USMC, who survived three years of bloody warfare in the Pacific and his father, Karl-Paul Weinberger Possible, a World War I army infantry officer who served as a POW camp executive officer in the desert of Southern California babysitting Italian prisoners during Second World War.

The Possible family had lost three sons during the Second World War. Now the Possible family had lost another generation, two sons and a father fighting for justice. It seemed the Possible family was cursed to have another three gold stars on the family service flag. Ronald Stoppable Possible vowed to ensure that their deaths won't be in vain.

* * *

One by one, the liabilities were dealt with, and the ledger was zeroed.

The Controller looked over the reports gathered upon his desk. Everything was in place. In a couple years, the next generation of the project will be tested.

The Controller suppressed a smile. There was much more to be done. More paperwork to be dealt with. Everyday the controller positioned himself for advancement in both the Project and the other organization from which he manipulated the puppets.

Richard Yamanouchi and Yori Suzuki were no longer in any position to jeopardize the monster.

The Possible Twins were dead. One in a car bomb and the other in Russia being hunted down by police with itchy trigger fingers.

The ledgers were destroyed and the photographs that Tim Possible made were incinerated in the fire.

Wade Lode would no longer be hacking into sensitive files.

Drakken and his lieutenant, Bonnie Rockwaller, were in position to control the political machinery of many first world nations.

The monster was busy enjoying its perversions and gaining control over the Asian crime syndicates.

The last two assets were maturing on schedule. The Controller would let the pair have a couple extra years to season before field testing.

Soon this phase of the Project would be completed.

The Controller would have to retire his boss, but not before ensuring his succession to the top spot.

Kim Possible believed him to be an inept bumbling idiot who was over his head. However, she would be shocked if she knew just how much he scripted the events of her life.

By taking care of the small problems before they blew up, he would have _another gold star to take home to mommy_. The Project Committee would recognize his superiority and soon he would have a seat in the chamber. One by one the others would fail and he would accomplish the mission and take the failure's seat. Soon he would be the first among the order. He would be the Lord Protector. He would be the Morning Star. He would control an organization that would one day rule the world.

He was smarter than the super villains. They believe in doing things in one grand step. He would away nibble at the buffet and mingle with the maggots until held everything within his grasp.


	35. Long Summer

**Moving On **

**Long Summer **

**By Pat Squared**

* * *

Everything was swirling around Ronald S. Possible. There were dozens of investigators ripping apart the lives of his family. 

A part of him understood why the police were pushing hard and fast on the investigation. However, there was a part of him that wanted...needed to be left alone. Everyone was running around trying to handle the funeral arrangements and trying to figure out what his Uncle Jim's last cryptic words meant.

"_Keep it under your hat - Tim's in big trouble, real trouble, and he is in a place were the Miranda warning goes, Scream all you want, it won't bother us at all_."

His mother was falling apart the fastest. His grandmother and grandfather were taking care of her. Since Ronnie would be only in the way, it was decided that after the funeral, he would spend the rest of the summer at his great-uncle Slim's ranch, the Lazy C. Uncle Slim was grandpa's older brother and agreed to take Ronnie in until school started.

Ronnie did not want to leave and to be pushed aside like a little kid. However, there was no way that he could talk his grandparents out of sending him away.

He was lost in thought as a familiar pair of arms grabbed him from behind.

"Guess who?"

A familiar pair of breasts were on his back, but he was too distracted to play the usual games.

"I'm being sent away. Mom's uncle got a ranch and with all this, I'm being sent away."

Violetta just sat besides her best pal.

"Promise me that you will write or at least email me. I can't come. Tita 'Berta got me signed up for too many things in the next couple months. Come with me."

Violetta grabbed her best pal by the hand.

Violetta lead him to a hill in the park overlooking the little kid's play area were she once fell and got some stitches on her chin. She merely hugged him and the two lay upon the grass staring up at the sky not exchanging another word at they gazed upon the clouds. Not another word was exchanged until it was time to return home for dinner. It was like she knew just what he needed.

* * *

Marie wondered how much longer she was going to live. 

The doctor's office luckily had most of her medication, but she knew that she was pushing her body to the breaking point. The thin mountain air and physical exertion was taking its toll on her health.

Looking at her captor, she noticed that he was losing a lot of weight. She knew that she too was losing a lot of weight also. Every night was growing colder.

She looked upon the sleeping form of the man who took her away from everything she knew. His sleep was in little fits as if demons haunted his sleep. A part of her wanted to know what was going through his head. Another just wanted to wake up and find herself back in her flat in St. Petersburg overlooking the canals.

She wanted to run, but where was she going to run to. She had seen the topographic maps that he found, but she could not read them or even figure out where she is. He on the other hand was able to use a map and compass to guide them through. She was dependant on his wilderness skills. Without him, there would be no fire or even fish to eat. It was like her entire life was spend in a cocoon and now she was finding herself falling apart in the wilderness.

She vowed to never complain about pickled herring ever again. It was too cold for her to sleep. She woke up shivering violently twice already. The watch on her wrist was her only physical connection to her old life.

Marie knew the she needed him. She hated it. She hated her confinement. All her life, her life was circumscribed by the wills of others. Now she had a decision. In her state, she could freeze to death or she could...sleep next to him.

_What if he gets the wrong idea? What if he rapes me? _

Marie was twenty six year old virgin who regularly attended church. She could not just walk away from him out into the wilderness. Committing suicide was a mortal sin and walking away was committing suicide. However, sleeping next to her captor could lead to a situation. She would be a victim, but a part of her knew that she would have started it by hugging his flesh. Either way risked damnation. However her shivering body won over years of conditioning. She crawled into his blanket and tossed her blankets over them.

It was warm, but Marie Ivanova Romanov had trouble falling asleep. She closed her eyes.

_Marie, it's not a sin. You are doing this to stay alive. God will understand. You are just sharing body warmth._

She chanted the line to herself until she finally fell asleep.

* * *

It was the first time that Ronnie ever rode in a helicopter. 

Normally he would ohh and ahh about doing something that sounded so cool, but now he was praying for his life.

His second cousin Jenny was at the controls of what she called the Little Bird, the Real Workhorse of the Lazy C Ranch. Jenny was eleven months younger than Ronnie and seemingly lived to scare her cousin by flying as fast a possible below treetop level. She would skim with the skids just feet over earth, popping up only just high enough to get over the high powered electric wires or a line of trees and immediately dropped back down to a few feet above earth.

Finally, she was getting bored and pulled back on the lever on her left side letting the helicopter gain altitude.

"This is my favorite thing to do in the helicopter – Autorotation."

Suddenly her small hand flipped a couple switches and the engine cut out. The helicopter started spinning

For the flight, Ronnie had resisted the urge to let loose in his pants. Now terror had overridden any sense of shame that Ronnie felt for defecating in his pants.

"Turn the engines back on. I'm too young to die!"

The needle was spinning wildly as the helicopter fell through the air.

200...180...160...140...120...100...80...60...40...

Ronnie was now praying to every deity on the planet to save him.

Suddenly Jenny yanked back the lever on her left side and the helicopter jerked to a stop. It touched down perfectly in the designated spot.

"Now cousin, that is a textbook example of a perfect autorotation. That is why helicopters are much safer than that big airplane you flew in on. In an airplane, you lose the engines you will crash. I don't care if you are Chuck Yeager himself. In a helicopter, I can just fall, let the rotors spin up, pull up on my collective just in the nick of time and bam, a feather landing. As long as you are here, I am going to be your flight instructor and get you rated a full fledged MD520N chopper jockey."

Ronnie did not hear a single word. He unlatched the restraints, leapt out of the door way, and lay on the dust.

"Sweet earth, sweet beautiful earth."

"Ronnie, that was not so bad. You should see us when it's time to get the herds moving. Then I have to do this for eight hours."

Ronnie was thankful that he was a city boy. He did not want anything to do with whirlybirds or other such things.

"Hi, mom. Just gave cousin Ronnie here his orientation flight. Just some NOE and an autorotation with a quick rundown on the controls and safety gear."

Ronnie wondered what language his relatives were speaking because he sure did not understand.

His mother's cousin, Joss was a tall woman, taller than his mother and even in height. He picked up his bags and tossed them around like they where filled with helium balloons.

"You sure are like you father, and you filled your pants just like he did. Come upstairs. I'm sorry but we don't have a spare room to lend you, but with the season all the rooms are taken by the hired help. You got to share a bed, but it's a good sized bed. With all that is going on right now, we can use an extra pair of hands. Down the hall is the bath. Don't expect much privacy. With twenty guys sharing the same bathroom, you won't have much time for bubble baths."

Within an hour, Ronnie realized that he was expected to work. By the end of the day, he wanted to die. Riding his grand-uncle's horses, both the mechanical and flesh versions gave him saddle sores. Bailing hay broke his illusion of being a future muscle man. He learned that riding behind the others meant eating dirt along with his supper. The only thing that was good was that his mother's cousin was a good cook. Back at home, Ronnie had to cook or the kitchen would be gloriously aflame. Worse would be the meal that he would be expected to eat. Thankfully, Ronnie inherited his father's cooking genes even if he did not like cooking all that much.

Everything was just so different from the life he lived back in Middleton, Colorado, that he was lost even when he knew that he was in Montana. He ware sore all over and despite being tired could not fall asleep. He groaned as he rolled over and removed a photo of Violetta and him at the lake last year. She was wearing a skimpy one-piece and he was in a pair of tattered jeans that his mother converted shorts. He wondered what she was doing. He closed his eyes remembering the last night they cuddled together.

It all seemed so far away.

"Is that your girl?"

It was his cousin, Jenny. She was in a skimpy top and panties and she was sliding into the bed. Ronnie realized that he had a hard-on from thinking about Vee and tried to hide the fact from his cousin.

"What are you doing her?"

"You're in my room. We're sharing the bed. Don't worry, nothing is going to happen. Nice picture...Your girlfriend is really pretty. Got cute green eyes, just like me and ma and your ma, but I would really kill for her hair. Are you two still virgins?"

Ronnie's face turned red.

"I know about the time your mother caught you naked with your girl. Your grandpa made sure to let it be known to my grandpa and parents about you and your girl. Mama told me to not let you be alone with any of the local girls, otherwise we might have a horde of little baby Possible's to raise on the ranch and have to hide you from a legion of pissed off fathers with shotguns."

"What goes on between Vee and me, stays between Vee and me!"

"So you're still a virgin. It not like you're the only one in this room. The boys are so scared of my daddy that they don't even ask me to dance, let alone kiss. I know you have kissed a girl before...what is it like?"

Ronnie wondered what the hell was going on.

"I never kissed a boy. I mean other then the peck on the cheek between kin, I never kissed a boy serious-like ma kisses pa."

Some primal part of Ronnie's mind was flashing warning signs and he had an urge to run all the way back to Colorado.

"Out here, a girl, she gots to be careful. Kissing a boy and all is bad for her reputation. Let alone being caught naked with a boy. If the other girls knew that you were such a bad boy...you will be like the guy on the old Axe commercials running away from a mob of crazy gals. You must have a fun life. No chores...being about to do naughty stuff with your girl without having your hide tarred off by a switch. Just being able to go off and do things like going to the movies without having to take a three hour ride to town."

Ronnie just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. He wanted to wake up and see Vee in his window. He just wanted to cuddle with her and then wake up to find that what he just experienced was a twisted nightmare. That Uncles Jim and Wade were still alive. That Uncle Tim was okay.

"Please, let me sleep. I'm tired, sore, and lonely. Please let me mope in peace."

He covered his face with pillow to shut out his cousin's comments.

He was on the verge of falling asleep when his cousin removed the pillow.

"What do you want?"

He had enough of this game.

"I want to know what it's like to kiss a boy serious-like and all."

Ronnie was fed up.

"Okay, I will kiss you _serious-like_, but then you will let me sleep, okay?"

He shuddered, but he had to stop his cousin's crazy talk if he wanted to survive tomorrow morning.

"Okay, Cousin Ronnie."

She puckered her lips.

"Not like that. Like this."

Ronnie tired, angry; frustrated with his crazy cousin. He just pinned her to the bed with his weight, closed his eyes, imagined Vee, and kissed his cousin. First his gently nibbled on her lip, starting sucking her lower lips and then gave her the tongue.

She started responding to his kiss.

A couple minutes later, he relented.

"Are you happy? You just made me feel like crap. I betrayed my girlfriend by kissing another girl who just happened to be my cousin."

His cousin was sobbing, "She's so lucky. For I second, I forgot that we were kin...I'm sorry, cousin. I promise not to bug you anymore or tell."

Ronnie got up and went to the bathroom. He wondered what the hell just happened and what it meant. He brushed his teeth again to get her taste out of his mouth, but no amount of brushing could get the memory out of his mind.

It took a bath and an hour for him to figure out just how to deal with the fact that he just made out with his cousin – his very attractive female cousin. Worse, a part of him actually enjoyed it and his hands were tempted to wander where they did not belong. He knew that if he did not play things cool, he would end up in very serious trouble.

Normally, Ronnie would go to Vee with all his problems, but Vee was back in Colorado and this was not the type of problem that a guy could go to his girl with and not walk out unhurt.

_Vee knows kung fu and how to use weapons. Vee knows currently has your uncle's chemistry lab books and all the homemade explosive recipes. Vee trusts you. She has put all her faith and trust in you._ _Jenny's your cousin. You are not some redneck all into incest. Your father and uncles will come back from the grave to beat the shit out of you if you mess things up by messing around with your cousin. Vee will borrow Tita 'Berta rusty bolo knife and chop you up into bits. Worse, you would hurt her._

Ronnie walked back to the bed. Careful to sleep with his back to his cousin, Ronnie wondered just how bad this summer can get. Tomorrow, he would see about bunking down with the hired help.

* * *

By the end of day two, Ronnie's brain was pounding. 

Yesterday, Jenny was some crazy girl on a mission to kill him by inducing a heart attack..

Today, she was crueler than any drill instructor.

Ron got out of baling hay, but was stuck on at the table with books covering everything from FAA and FCC regulations to radio procedures to the US Army maintenance manuals on the MH-6 Cayuse. Between his cousin and her father, a former chief warrant officer with the US Army 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, he had so much stuff being mashed in his head.

For the rest of his life, Ronnie would forever remember certain pieces of trivia, such as the helicopter was also known as the Loach; it first flew in February 1963; the model he was expected to fly was the McDonald Douglas 520N; it is powered by a 450-shp Allison 250-C20R; had a maximum gross weight of 3,350 pounds, and an endurance of 2.5 hours on a 64 gallon internal fuel tank and 5 hours with both external fuel tanks; Instead of rocket pods that his uncle had it outfitted with two external fuel tanks; That it can cruise up 170 miles per hour; had a ceiling of 20,000 feet with a service ceiling of 16,300 feet; The stick on his left was the collective; The stick between his legs was not the joystick but the cyclic; the throttle was on the collective and operated like a motorcycle's; and That the peddles were not rudder peddles but controlled a nozzle to counter the torque of the 5 bladed composite propeller instead of the normal counter torque propeller that was present on most helicopters.

Yesterday, his cousin terrorized him with a thing that in three weeks he was expected to fly. Before, he would think that it was cool to be about to fly. Now he was terrified of crashing and burning. Not even a horde of rabid monkeys could terrify his father more than the 5-bladed monster did him. Today, when they took him to get his second class flight medical, he prayed that the doctor would find something wrong, but he got a clean bill of health and the doctor told him that he could even get a first class medical.

Ronnie knew that things were going south. Two more days of _ground school_, one day for a radio operator test, and then three more before he was expected to solo in the thing. His cousin and her family were all nuts, like his mom use to be nuts. Thankfully he inherited his father's genes when it came to sanity and appreciation of danger. Things could not get worse until Jenny took him out to bust some broncos and told him that he would be busting broncos if he did not pass his check flight. Worse, she threatened to tell Vee about the kiss.

Only then was Ronnie truly motivated to fly. He could live with the broncos, bale hay, shovel shit, even artificially inseminate cows by shoving a gloved arm only gods know where in a cow with sample of a bull sperm...Anything was better than another ride in that whirlybird.

However, Vee finding out about that kiss was not an option. Thankfully, his cousin Jenny did not ask for a repeat of the kiss even though she did ask him about that time his ma caught him.

Later that night, Ronnie Possible went to bed with just one thought.

_This was going to be one hell of a long summer. _

* * *

Violetta Lee marked another day off her calendar. It would be 39 more days until Ronnie would return from his cousins' ranch in Montana. 

The girl who normally could care less about her appearance was fretting if Ronnie would still like her when he returned.

Since the pair meet in Pre-K, Ronnie was always there when she needed him. Now because of what happened to his Uncle Jim, Ronnie was alone without her to help him. He was lonely on a ranch were the only girls were either too old or related to him.

Ronnie emailed her about the crazy helicopter lessons that he was going through and his job on the ranch. Going up with one of Colorado's best head shrinks as her foster mom taught her a lot about psychology. She understood why they were doing what they were doing to her boyfriend, but no one seemed to acknowledge that one can't be busy forever.

There would come a time that Ronnie would have to let the grief out.

Violetta knew that no matter how tough Ronnie might act, there was a side of him that needed her to keep his secrets. She knew him since that day in Pre-K where they bit Tita Kim's legs for abandoning Ronnie. Ronnie would have to face his grief soon and Violetta did not want Ronnie to face his grief without her being close enough to help him pick up the pieces.

Violetta had thrown herself into her other activities trying to ensure that she was too exhausted to miss her best pal and boyfriend during the day. It did not work. During the day, she trained for the YMCA dive team, practiced her martial arts forms for the upcoming tournament, memorized the notebooks Ronnie's Uncle Jim gave to him, and endlessly practiced her piano. All her instructors were awed by her improvement even in the few short days that Ronnie was gone. However, Violetta grew to dread her bedroom. There she could not help but think of Ronnie.

Besides, it was three nights without a kiss.

_Six more weeks less three days...thirty nine days...it was going to be a hellishly long summer_.

* * *

Special Agent Lori Zimmer of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation had a whole lot of...nothing.

The ATF was running down the blasting caps. The local police traced the cellular phone to an Sryian immigrant living in Nevada. The Sryian was killed by casino rent-a-cops when he unsuccessfully tried to detonate a Semtex overcoat in at the Mirage and then pulled a pistol on the casino security. Unlike many places were rent-a-cops was a joke, casino security reacted better than most small city police in the same situation. Three rounds - the Mozambique Tripple Tap. Two the body and one to the head. Los Vegas police was sending over a rep with the findings.

Two young FBI types from Washington butted in, told the local SAC to go home, and they will take over the investigation. Normally Zimmer had a good relationship with the FBI. She was on first name basis with most of the agents and unlike many other local cops, she had the direct line. What angered Zimmer was the fact that two hotshots trampled over the local FBI SAC and in no uncertain terms described them as incompotent to handle such an investigation. If you have to releave a cop, you should have the honor of not doing it in front of his peers. The local SAC had twenty-seven years in the Bureau, ten of which was in counterterrorism. Zimmer would rather have the SAC and no other FBI support than the hotshots and the entire agency if the hotshots were going to antagonize the locals by telling them that they were no good.

Zimmer had worked on half a dozen capital murder cases and never dropped the ball on any of her cases. She would be damned if she let two idiots from Washington take over her investigation and get the evidence thrown out on the state capital murder trial because the FBI did not know the local laws pertaining to evidence.

Zimmer played her political game.

She made one phone call to the local senator who just happened to be the Vice-Chairman of the Justice Oversight Committee. He then called the US Attorney General and pointed out that if some Washington hotshots messed up the State of Colorado's chance to get the death penalty that he would go on record telling the American people that the FBI gotten too bitch for its britches and should undergo reduction in staff and a budget cut. The B word immediately caught the US Attorney General's ear and the ear of the Director of the FBI.

Twenty minutes later, the Washington were walking out with their tales tucked firmly between their legs to their next desk in Alaska, and the local Special Agent in Charge of the Denver Office was reauthorized by the Attorney General to deliver any and all possible aid to local authorities. The FBI also would make this case their number one priorty. The local police was finishing up searching the 1,700 foot radius and everything that was not tacked down was bing hauled away to the labs for analysis.

Now Zimmer had to play the press game. She had to get rival agencies to focus on the mission rather than bickering over who did what. Thankfully her demonstration of power made the other federal and local agencies listen very carefully to her _suggestions_.

It was three days since Zimmer had any sleep.

She knew that she would not be going on vacation this year.

_It was going to be a long summer._

* * *

Halfway around the world, Tim Possible would gladly trade in both his testicles for a helicopter, even one that was gloriously aflame and flown by his whimpering nephew.

He was watching two hunters check the ground for signs of his passing. Both were armed with rifles and looked like they knew how to use it.

He drew his pistol. It could not hit, let alone put down the two men at this range. His only chance was to remain hidden and with Marie and his tracks all over the place, he would not remain hidden for long.

Marie...he wondered why he even bothered. Her message ensured his death. He knew realistically that today was his last day. He prayed the Wade could find the information that they sought in the ledgers. He prayed that his death would not destroy his family.

"Marrie. Go with them. Tell them who you are and to take you back to your father. Tell them that I am armed and if they continue to hunt me, I will have no choice but to kill them. Go. You don't belong in this place."

Ronnie steeled himself. He had no chance. He knew to be captured was to be interrogated and killed. He looked down at his only means of salvation. He put the pistol to his temple.

"Go, don't look back."

However, she grabbed the pistol out of his hand.

"Stupid. Why are you trying to kill yourself? Are you Christian?"

_Great, I offered her freedom and now she wants to save my soul._

"I was Catholic once. Now I am enacting my _acceleration clause_ with the devil. There is no forgiveness for my crimes. Besides I doubt I would want to live through one of your father's interrogations."

Marie looked at him.

"If you want to kill yourself, you will have to do it in front of me."

He put the gun to his temple. He flicked off the safety.

"Go. You don't want to remember what another set of brains being ventilated looks like. Go."

But she stayed.

"There is always forgiveness. You just got to ask. I forgive you, American. I will go, only if you can convince me that you will not kill yourself."

He holstered the pistol. She had defeated an armed man with her words. However, if they spotted him, he would charge them so they would be forced to kill him.

_Why couldn't things be simple anymore_?

_This is going to be a hell of a long summer._


	36. Dealing with It

**Moving On **

**Dealing With It **

**By Pat Squared **

* * *

Tim wondered why God chose to inflict this fate on him. 

Outside of his twin brother, Ron Stoppable was his best friend. Other than him mom, Ron was the only one who patiently put up with their antics. Jim and Tim were both excited when they heard that Ron and Kim were getting married. They both decided to hunt down Drakken after the blue skinned villain put two rounds into Ron's and Kim's face.

As far as Tim could figure out the only reason God spared Kim was the fact that she unknowing was pregnant with Ron's child. Ron was not needed anymore for the propagation of the species and so God let Ron die. Tim hated God. He had turned his back on God. If there was such a thing as a just God, good people like Ron would not die and his nephew would not have to grow up without a father.

Now he was stuck with the next worse thing to a born again bible thumper. Maybe she was one Eastern Orthodox style.

It was his soul that would burn in hell, not hers, why did Marie even give a flying fuck about him. He only killed her boss, kidnapped her, kick her around, and yet she care about his soul.

Sometimes even someone as dense as he could read the signs.

_Stockholm syndrome – Capture Bonding. Christ, why didn't I see it before._

A hostage will start bonding to their captor if held for a given period of time. Marie believed herself to be attached to him. She believed that she could save his soul.

Tim did not want anyone to save his soul. He had long since surrender it. Thirteen years he signed the deal with the devil. He danced with the devil knowing when the music stopped; he would have to pay up for the dance.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled.

God had turned his back and on the good and now God was trying to save the damned.

_Crap God, if you did not want me to go on this rampage, all you had to do was raise the first shooter's bullet one inch higher. It would have bounced off Ron's helmet and Ron would be alive today. Better yet, all you have to do was make sure the wrong sperm-egg combination did not happen and Drakken would not be born. If you were a perfect fucking deity, I would not have to do what I did to fix your errors. Perfect God my ass!_

He wanted to curse out God. He wanted to rip the veil of innocence from Marie so she could just effing see what he saw.

_God loves me...right and I am the Dalia Lama, Buddha, Mohammed, Confucius, and Jesus of Nazareth_._ Dream on and you too can buy oceanfront property in Middleton. _

Tim Possible looked on as the hunters examined the old campsite the pair used last night. One was checking the fire pit while the other was providing over watch protection.

_Damn...fucking Russians make sure everyone serves a two-year term in the army._

Despite these two being far long past their army days, the lessons were not forgotten. Hunters were not so vigilant against ambush when hunting animals. Only man hunters would be so vigilant against ambush. They were hunting him.

It was fifty yards from the tree to the old camp site. He theoretically could make the shot, but theoretically he could chant an incantation that would make them forget all about him. He could theoretically toss a stone and have them looking for the source of the sound as Marie and he slipped away.

It was like walking along and picking up the winning lottery ticket out of the gutter. Theoretically possible, but highly unlikely.

However, Tim had to do something. He slowly drew his pistol. With his left hand, he grabbed a rock. He tossed the rock ninety degrees to his right into a clump of bushes.

They were looking for him. Worse, because his rock spooked some kind of animal which charged the hunters and knocked one to the ground. Whatever it was...it was not happy and started chasing the other hunter who was running for dear life. It happened so fast that Tim could not identify what type of animal it was. Wolverine, badger, tiger, bear...whatever. Tim did not really care as long as it was chasing away the hunter. He had hit the proverbial lottery ticket.

If Tim survived long enough to get back home, he knew not to even think risk his money in the casinos since his used up his lifetime supply of luck in the Russian forests.

The other hunter was down on the ground. He was dead. His neck was broken when the creature pounced on him.

Tim stripped the man down to his underwear. Only an idiot would assume that stripping the dead is an easy task. Dead bodies are limp and trying to manipulate one is a nightmare as any EMT or coroner can attest. The clothes were far too small for him. However, the man had some paperwork, an identification card, a Mosin-Nangant M1891/30 7.62x54mmR rifle with a primitive three power telescopic sight, six five-round clips of ammunition in a bandoleer, and a pack laden with supplies.

Tim wondered just how much longer God was going to play with him. Between being a wanted criminal, a hostage with Stockholm syndrome and a heart condition, survival in the Russian wilderness, and now professional state hunters eager to add two legged prey to their resume, God would have more than enough to make him the star of a wrapped comedy. No author could be so twisted as the divine one. If it was not real life, no one would believe that he was so lucky as to spook a pissed off beast. _Deus ex machina_ (God out of the machine) as the ancient Greeks called it. He was now officially the American idiot starring in this comedy of errors.

Tim knew better than to wait for the hunter to return for his dead buddy. He had expended all his luck on this one. Now he had to be careful. He checked the rifle. The hunter was smart. It was loaded with no round in the chamber. Only idiots trusted the mechanical safety of a firearm.

He would keep it that way. God only knows just how likely he was to trip and accidentally shoot himself now that his luck was gone.

Tim knew that fortune would wait until he actually had a glimmer of hope before shafting him again. There was no other option but to deal with it.

* * *

Ronald S. Possible did the walk-around on the machine that was going to kill him. 

Lately his nightmares involve him crashing and burning. He would not die...not yet. He would be taken to the hospital were his cousin and Vee would trade notes on who got the better kiss. Vee would then borrow a dull rusty spoon and start removing certain body parts.

Worse yet was the dream where he found himself and his cousin making the beast with two backs and Violetta walking in with his family in tow. They would then take him out, shoot off all his appendages with a shotgun, and stake him over an ant hill like the Indians use to do.

Ronnie wondered what was going on in his head. He like Vee very much, but he could not get the image of his cousin out of his head. Jen would just change in front of him. She would just off and do something crazy and rope him along with her. Thankfully, nothing else was remotely sexual, but after the first night, Ronnie was worried. But just the possibility it might be sacred the living crap out of him and fueled a wet dream that no man should have to endure.

The other tasks on the ranch were not pleasant. Being a cattle farm, Ronnie had to help in the butchering process and learned just exactly how cattle was turned into USDA prime dry-aged beef. He had to help inseminate half a dozen heifers using the rubber glove and semen sample technique. He had to pick up dozens hay bales and load it up unto the truck. He had to learn to ride while breaking in horses. Cleaning out the stable was getting to be old game; Ronnie swore that he would be smelling shit for the rest of his days.

However, none of the tasks worried him as much as today's task.

Yesterday he used up his lifetime supply of luck when he soloed. Today, he would have to fly in formation with another chopper and get a herd of cows to more to another pasture before they ruin their current one by eating all the grass to the roots. Soloing was easy. Climb up to altitude, fly a course with four ninety degree turns, and return to earth. Being high up was easy. If he made a mistake he had time to recover. Being at the nap of the earth...what was the line...it's not the fall that kills you...it's hitting the ground that smarts.

Today, he fueled-up the chopper. With a ranch hand and him plus fuel, the chopper would handle like a pregnant cow and have the all the expected aerodynamic properties of the one that jumped over the moon.

Ronnie was wearing a set of sage green Nomex Jumpsuit, a pair of mirror aviator's sunglasses, boots, and a black cowboy hat. Jenny took a photo of him by the helicopter and then wished him luck. She would be flying with her father in the other one.

Martinez, the ranch hand was waiting in the helicopter.

"Bueno diaz, Senior Possible."

Ronnie never met the man before. He was older. In his early forties. His face was weather worn.

"Bueno diaz, Senior Martinez. Como esta usted?"

In one sentence, Ronnie use up most of his non-obscene Spanish.

"Muy bien, y usted?"

"Muy bien."

"Senior Possible, vaya con Dios."

_Great. He does not speak any English and is wishing me luck. He is going to jinx me._

Ronnie ran through the preflight check list and the start up check list.

"MD-321, requesting permission to take off."

"This ain't NASA or the FAA tower, Ronnie. Just keep an eye out for the electric wire and listen to Martinez. You're the pilot, but he will guide you. He had been doing this since he was a boy. Joss and Mark will meet you in fifteen over the south pasture. Keep an eye out for airplanes buzzing the ranch. This is unrestricted airspace as long as you keep under 1,500 feet and don't fly too close to the Canadian border."

Ronnie knew that would be the envy of all his classmates. Getting to fly a actual helicopter and getting a pilot's license would give him bragging rights. However, he hated the damned things. He had examined the _Jesus nut_ carefully. It was the one thing holding the propeller to the shaft. If that went, no amount of praying would save his life. He did not want to be here, but his cousin blackmailed him.

_Why couldn't Uncle Mark and Aunt Joss have more kids? That way Jen gets to boss around someone else instead of me._

All the needles were in the green. Ronnie twisted the throttle as he pulled back on the collective with his left hand. Now he was hovering on a cushion of air. He applied more throttle as he pulled the cyclic a little bit forward to compensate that he no longer enjoyed the benefits of hovering over an air cushion.

_Don't let me mess this up. I don't want Jen and Vee comparing notes on how I kiss at my funeral._

Ronnie performed a slow turn and headed to the south.

* * *

Violetta opened her notebook computer and checked her email. There was a new address. 

_To: "Violetta" _

_From: "Jen" _

_RE: Ronnie _

_You don't know me, but I am Ronnie's cousin Jenny Possible. _

_Your pal has successfully made his first solo helicopter flight yesterday and is one more step closer to being a certified chopper jockey. I have attached photos of him working on the ranch. _

_He is gathering the attention of the local girls, but don't worry, I told all them 'zit-queens' that he is already spoken for and that you would come on up to Montana to kung fu any girl who tried to kiss him that was not kin, and only then kin can kiss him on the cheek. Truth be told, he is cute (thankfully, unlike Uncle Larry's brats), but definitely funny. _

_Ronnie has this fear of choppers. I don't know why, but every time he flies with me, he ends up collapsing on the ground and kissing it when we land. I hope that he gets over his fear because he is a natural chopper pilot if he could just relax a little bit and stop worrying so much. _

_Ronnie decent with horses, willing to help out in the ranch and in the kitchen. He's getting better at tossing the hay bales around and he is putting on muscle. When he comes back, he will need new shirts are his old ones will be too small. Take the poor boy shopping so that he doesn't get stuck with the discount rack. Otherwise the ladies in the stores might want to try him on in the fitting rooms. Besides, if he was not my cousin, I would be doing everything in my power to grab that boy. You are some lucky girl. _

_As I get to know Cousin Ronnie, I am learning about you. He always keeps the photo of you and him by the lake next to his heart and when he does not think I'm looking he pulls it out and looks at it. I don't know how you do it, but the boy is still busted up about you despite all the fillies in town who are crying because he ignores them. As I don't yet have a boy of my own, if you have any advice on how to snare one up good one like you snared Ronnie, I'm all ears. _

_Attached also are photo of pa and me busting Ronnie with whip cream pies to the face. It's a tradition up here when someone completes his first solo flight. Flying can be serious business, but who said that we can't have fun on the ground. I hope you forgive me for mashing Ronnie's face good. I did not do it all that hard and pa told me his nose is not broken. _

_Jen P. _

_PS: I hope that you and Ronnie can come next summer. Being the only girl in a ranch full of men gets ancient mighty fast...I will teach you how to fly a chopper and ride a horse. Also, next year, I will be old enough to get my driver's license, 14 is legal as long as it's farm equipment. Want to learn to drive? _

Vee opened up the photo files attached to the email. There were several shots of Ronnie about the ranch. His skin was darker from working outside and he was wearing a black cowboy hat, no shirt, jeans, and work boots. He looked so happy. Ronnie was definitely becoming a hottie despite the fact that he never takes care of himself.

Vee scrolled down to the last photo. Ronnie face was covered in pie. On the right was a man. On the left was...Jen.

Violetta knew that Jen was Ronnie's cousin.

_But why did Jen have to be so cute_.

Jen had green eyes just like Vee only paler. Ronnie had a thing for green eyes. Maybe because his mother had green eyes, but no matter what Ronnie liked green eyes. In all the other categories, Jen had her beat.

Jen had long, beautiful, blond hair. Vee had medium, dark hair with an abundance of split ends.

Jen had a tan that Vee would kill for. No matter how long in Vee suntanned, she never tanned, just turned red and then immediately started peeling after a failed attempt.

Jen had bigger breasts than Violetta. Jen looked like she would grow up to model for the Ms. Canned Milk USA campaign.

Worse of all, Jen probably did not talk funny. Violetta hated her stutter. It was one of the things that ensured that she was the social pariah at school. If Ronnie was not there, she would not have a friend in the world.

If Jen was not Ronnie's cousin, Ronnie would probably pick Jen over her to be his girl.

She prayed that all the other _non-kin_ girls at the ranch were either happily married or real ugly. Violetta wondered what made her special enough for Ronnie. The cynical part of her told her that she simply got to Ronnie first before any of the other girls could see just how much of a catch Ronnie was.

Jen was too perfect.

Jen's perfect teeth versus Vee's braces.

Jen's size C cup versus Vee's size A cup.

Jen's curly blond hair versus Vee's limp dark hair.

Jen's curvy body versus Vee's stick with two bumps the size of a rubber eraser.

Jen's perfect tan versus Vee's peeling skin.

A girl who could fly helicopters and ride horses versus Violetta's piano and kung fu.

Excitement versus the same old thing.

Violetta _knew _that if Jen was not Ron's cousin, she would loose her BF to the blond.

Violetta knew that praying for other girls to be ugly or break out in zits was not a good prayer to make to God.

However, the young girl spent eight years with Ronnie and she was not going to let some Ms. Canned Milk with big jugs take him away. Violetta would not just wait and pray that things would work out. Only fools trusted in fate and storybook endings.

Violetta would wage preemptive warfare.

Violetta would give up being an unrepentant tomboy and master all the _girly-things_ like make-up and scents and everything else that a girl could use to lock in a boy. If necessary, Violetta planned to go all the way to hang unto Ronnie.

Violetta thanked God for Jen inadvertently giving her that wake up call. The fact that Jen was Ronnie's cousin made Jen safe. But there were other busty blond that were not Ronnie's cousin. She was not going to lose Ronnie to some big busted floozy.

When it came to protecting her BF, it was war, and Violetta was from the Old Testament School of warfare. She did not take any prisoners. She had to protect him from some scheming leech. Ronnie was not stupid, but sometimes a little _slow_ when it came to reading people.

It was time for a total make over.

With Ronnie becoming such a hottie, Violetta had to be a hottie too. Or she would risk having another girl kissing her BF and taking him away. If was not Ronnie's fault. Violetta knew that when men saw a cute girl and get an erection, their brains turned to mush.

_No one takes Ronnie. He is mine. He needs me...not so lousy bimbo who is just going to get knocked up, fat and ugly, and bore him to death with tabloid gossip. He is too good for that. I will get myself knocked up with his twins before I let him go. _

What Violetta did not know what that Jen had a similar inferiority complex about Violetta.

After looking at Violetta's photo, Jen started believing herself too fat.

Jen felt herself just another plain, blond trailer trash bimbo compared to Violetta exotic Eurasian features. Violetta was apparently so smart and worldly that Jen felt trapped on the ranch for the first time in her life. Jen was now ashamed to be a country girl. Jen suddenly became weight and figure conscious.

Both girls had issues.

Violetta wanted to hang unto her man.

Jen wanted a man of her own, but trying to find one that can kiss as good as Ronnie with her over protective father around was an exercise in futility. Jen wondered why Ronnie had to be _her_ cousin, instead of someone elses.

* * *

Movement slowed to a crawl as Tim Possible tried to ensure that he sterilized the path they used. He tried to recall everything his grandfather taught him about moving in a war zone when Tim was stuck listening to grandpa's old war stories about fighting in the Pacific, Korea, and Vietnam. Don't use paths, sleep on the side of a hill, preferably under a thorny bush so they cannot coordinate a perfect sweep, and remember, you were playing on someone else's back yard. Stealth, not speed, was the key to survival. 

Tim looked at Marie. Something happened and Tim was trying to figure it out. Marie was the last person you would want out in the wilderness. No outdoor skills. A need to constantly rest and take her medications. A conscience. An extra mouth to feed.

With all the pursuit, the pair was moving only a couple miles a day on a good day. Twice, two groups of hunters have tried to follow their trail since the incident in the forest. Thankfully, Tim did not have to waste one of his precious rounds of ammunition. He was trying to save it for the bears. There was plenty of game, but none with the fat that Tim and Marie would need to survive much longer.

The pair could not do this forever. Once, the pair had to float down rivers to elude the search dogs the last couple hunters brought with them. Tim knew the next time he could not count on a nearby river to mask his scent. Thankfully, it seemed that the large patrols were drying up, but now they were hiring hunters...men who knew this land and its secrets. Tim would rather have the battalion bumbling conscripts trample out and ruin the scent trail rather than one hunter who knew the land.

Tim looked at his reflection in the water. He was much skinner than he was at the start of this mission. He would say that he was now 135-140 pounds and that was optimistic. Marie was now under a hundred. Soon it would be winter, unless they started eating fat, they would die when the snows come. He did not know what to do. Marie wouldn't leave him. He could not just walk away and leave her to rot.

However, to steal a car was to let the others know where he was and that he was still alive. If he hid long enough, the authorities would believe that the pair met their end out in the wilderness. It was their only chance...his only chance. It was not so far fetched. Even those who grew up in this land suffered injuries and die. However for the ruse to work, they had to leave no sign of their passing.

Tim wondered what would have happened in the old West. Uncle Slim's wife had an ancestress that was captured by the Sioux and married off to one of the Sioux warriors. Did that lady break down and lack unto her warrior as Marie was doing to him? How much longer would this happen until things really blew up.

_Earth to Tim, this is not a romance novel._

Tim had to keep moving. Survival came first, anything other than survival wasted precious resources.

He had lost his life a long time ago. Now it seemed the only reason for his existence was her. He did not love her. He could not love her. He did not want to love her. Love was chaos. Love would only complicate things. He chalked up his thoughts to Mother Nature's hardwiring. Any guy traveling around with a pretty, fertile young lady would start thinking about reproduction. It was mother nature's way of keeping the gene's flowing.

The Possible's had Ronnie to keep the gene's flowing. With the why Ronnie's best pal been around him, Tim figured that Kim would have her hands full trying to Ronnie from making her a premature grandmother. Tim was not needed anymore to keep the genes moving. He was an evolutionary dead end like his twin brother. It was just his twin faced up to facts sooner than Tim did.

"How old are you?"

"We're thirty two," Tim automatically replied.

"We...we is a plural in English. Do you have a twin sibling?"

_Damn, the amateur shrink got another piece of information out of you, Secret Agent Man. You might as well tell her everything. Maybe you can get her to see some reason. Maybe you can get her to understand why you are so messed up in the noggin and that it's in everyone's best interest to go to the nearest town and back to daddy. _

_What are you stupid? What exactly is she going to understand? You sold your soul to the devil for the chance at revenge. She is a Christian, Tim and you are a pagan with a malfunctioning Irish Catholic conscience. She is _turn the other cheek_ and you come from the smite them all and let God sort it all out school of diplomacy._

If Tim was sane, he would listen to the cynical voice that kept him breathing despite all the tight spots he had been in. However after living in hell, doing the insane thing was sometimes the only sane thing to do.

"We have an older sister. I am the youngest brother. I ended up here oddly because of family."

Marie started asking questions and Tim soon found himself telling her just exactly how he got trapped in all this madness.

He expected her hatred and contempt when he told her of his crimes. He expected her hatred and contempt when he broke down and confessed his inadequacies. He had surrendered all his secrets to her. He expected the end of the world to occur.

Tim Possible had let out the World Serpent, Fennis Wolf, and Loki from their imprisonment and yet Ragnorok did not happen...yet.

Tim knew that fate was waiting just until he actually had hope before fate would dash it.

* * *

Ronnie collapsed on the hanger floor. 

"Wake me up when it's time to head back out tomorrow," he muttered to no one in particular.

Ronnie was totally exhausted. Being scared, knowing that one slip up would kill him and Martinez, everything only wore him out. He just wanted everyone out so he could go over to the toilet in the hanger and puke his guts out. He smelled himself. The flight suit had to go into the laundry. It was a miracle that he did not defecate on himself today.

Ronnie wondered just how many more herds had to be moved to greener pastures. He just wanted summer to be over and be back in the city were the most dangerous thing he did was walk to school.

It was time to finish the paperwork. One would think that pilots just picked up a set of keys, turn on the ignition, and take off. No, the gods at the FAA ensured that every minute of terror was logged for posterity's sake. He staggered back to the chopper and grabbed his log book. Seven point six plus twenty three point two meant that he logged in thirty point eight hours for flight time. He filled in the appropriate spots and wondered if anyone else would ever see this. Ronnie waited for the chopper to cool down before refueling the external tanks. Tomorrow would be time for the north pasture.

He was too out of it to even think about supper or climbing the stairs to sleep.

Ronnie just removed his flight suit, rolled it up into a pillow and crashed underneath the machine that now fueled his nightmares.

_Ronnie, wake up!_

He sat up wanting to believe that he was in just one seriously messed up nightmare. However his head hit the bottom of the helicopter airframe and then rebounding on the concrete floor told him otherwise. He closed his eyes wondering just how much more damage he would have to do to his head before they would take him off the job.

"Sorry Ron, the little boss, your Uncle Mark, told me to get you. He admires your work ethic, but you need a shower, a hot meal, and a good nights sleep on a real bed otherwise you won't be ready for tomorrow. Today was great. Don't worry, did you think the boss was going to risk kin without an IP in the right seat. I am also an FAA certified check pilot. You just passed a check ride that washes out half the pilots out of the Army Helicopter Flight Training Program, Ron. I just got to mail off a copy of your logbook and the FAA will mail you back your license. Next, we will work on your instrument and commercial rating."

Ronnie cursed up a storm. He was afraid that he would crash and burn and he had an IP in his seat.

"Jesus, Martinez, why didn't you tell me you can fly?"

The man laughed.

"It's Charlie Martinez. Jesus is my youngest son. You were so serious and besides you were speaking to me in Spanish, so I figured that you could use the practice. You are a natural for flying and languages. Don't worry about being afraid. If you are not apprehensive about flying a helicopter, you are stupid. There are old pilots, bold pilots, but no such thing as an old, bold pilot. It's when you lose your respect for the machine that fate bites you on the ass. Your cousin, Jennifer, is the one that scares me up in the air, she has no fear of the dangers...Does not even do the walk around half the time. I see that you already prepped the bird for tomorrow. You just need a little more seasoning and as long as your respect the bird it will take care of you.

"Your accent needs a little work, but with the right kind of long-haired dictionary, you will soon be sounding like one of the announcers on Mexican radio. Your cursing is extraordinary. Remember it's _hijo de puta_, not _puta ina mu._"

Ronald groaned. His uncle already had a second adult pilot on the payroll.

_Why did they need me to risk my life and a perfectly good, expensive helicopter flying below tree top level to get the cows moving?_

"_Puta ina mu _is Tagalog. Same meaning. Learned it from my girlfriend's aunt when..."

"We all heard the story, bad boy. I promise that you will return back to your _chica_ in one piece with wings of gold. No woman can resist a pilot. They just instinctively know that we are a superior breed of men and they can't wait to have some of our rug rats to ensure their offspring won't end up with the IQ of a pet rock. I learned that to my misfortune when I was in the Army with your uncle Mark. It cost me my freedom, engagement and wedding rings, three boys, and seventeen years of listening to my nagging wife, Claire, about just how long she spent in labor. I swear that number just keeps growing. My sons are following in my footsteps. I am just making sure that they have a stash of condoms. We guys got to stick together."

* * *

Marie looked down at the soul that was her captor. 

Russian authors were the master of capturing the essence of a tortured soul, perhaps since the Russian experience is that of tragedy. Tim might have not been Russian by blood, but he was trapped in lifetime of despair that could only be called Russian.

Maybe only Fyodor Dostoyevsky could express the pain and guilt that trapped the American. Dostoyevsky's protagonist Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov was not half a haunted as the one called Tim. Her life was like Sofya Semyonovna Marmeladova's life minus the drunken father and prostitution. Somehow fate seemingly cast her in the role of Tim's spiritual savior.

Like in Dostoyevsky's tale, the crime started in Saint Petersburg. Like in Dostoyevsky's tale, Tim, like Raskolnikov, committed heinous crimes in believing that he was doing more good than the evil they performed. Like in Dostoyevsky's tale, Marie, like Sofya, got the tortured soul to confess. Maybe like in Dostoyevsky, maybe they both can restart their lives in Siberia. Maybe like in the novel, there was hope.

Marie Ivanovna Romanov remembered reading the books in her father's library. _Crime and Punishment_, _Anna Karenina_, and just about every other Russian novel seemed to end in tragedy. Tragedy – a disease all too common to the Russians and the English. Marie prayed that whoever authored the whims of fate was not a Russian or an Englishman. Tragedy had warped and twisted an otherwise good soul. Now it was time for the tortured soul to be allowed some redemption.

Marie closed her eyes and cuddled next to the soul that she had to save. The old life of being a currency trader and a minister's daughter was fading away. She wondered for so many years why God made her sick and weak. Now she knew that she was being prepared for a task. Darkness had a firm grip on a lost soul for far too long. She would be the pry bar that would pry Tim away from the Devil's grasp and back to the light.

* * *

Special Agent Lori Zimmer of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation finally got the interagency politics sorted out. The grandstanders were gone leaving the professional who simply wanted to get the job done. 

The two FBI agents from Washington who tried to take over the investigation were sent to some distant field office in Alaska and the Special Agent in Charge of the Denver Office personally detailed his best man...woman to the case.

Zimmer was sick and tired of the political games. She lost two hours trying to get everything back on track.

The ATF came through and did not drop the ball. The report was textbook perfect and her local experts reviewed all the data for accuracy. There was no way any defense attorney could toss out the evidence.

Local police and state crime lab personnel found and processed thousands of pieces of potential evidence did a similar job.

A group calling itself _Allah's Holy Martyrs _released a videotape claiming responsibility for killing the Zionist tool, Jim Possible, an American spy and vowed more attacks on the heartland of America. The local SWAT team under the guidance of the FBI Hostage rescue team simultaneously executed seven search warrants on suspected Islamic extremists with links to Jihadist Movements. Now the ATF and local bomb squads were busy cataloging the find of military ordinance and homemade explosives. Two suspects shot it out and were unfortunately killed, but the others proudly admitted to carrying out a hit on the American counterintelligence agent with only two hours notice.

Zimmer got the _who_,_ what_,_ when_, and_ how_. However without the why and who else, Zimmer did not want to close the investigation.

Global Justice sent a senior representative, Will Du, to bring over the Possible files. The local and state police was following up on every criminal that Kim Possible prosecuted. The FBI, Interpol, and Global Justice were tracing all the super villains.

However what opened up her eyes were the files on Jim and Tim Possible. They had a high number of cases where the bad guy met a grizzly end.

Since most of the deaths happened in jurisdictions without the concepts of civil liberties, the local police did not bother to investigate and told anyone that they were happy that the villain committed suicide by torturing himself or herself to death. Also all the bodies were burned to prevent epidemics (a through investigation). However, one of the deaths occurred in the states and another in England. In both cases, napalm and other caustic chemicals were used to destroy forensic evidence. England's police were just as often on the forefront of criminal forensics as the United States, so it was not for the lack of effort.

Tim and Jim Possible were suspected in the murders of a dozen super villains. Since Global Justice could not prosecute due to political fallout and lack of evidence, they merely _retired_ the twins from active service. For eight years, they've been going around the world on their own dime. Having twenty-four patents, made them independently wealthy. However, a call to the US Treasury got one hundred agents scouring records for possible funding sources.

Tim Possible was missing.

No one in the family or Jim's lover would tell authorities what happened to Tim. There was an ongoing surveillance effort on the twins, but the twins always slipped their watchers.

Was Tim Possible dead?

Also what was Wade Lode doing before he was killed.

Wade had to know what was going on.

However, despite repeated FBI efforts no one successful penetrated Wade Lode's secure communications. With his agoraphobia, he never left his home long enough to be bugged. Zimmer knew that the deaths of Wade Lode, Jim Possible, and the disappearance of Tim Possible were all related.

Despite the calls for a quick resolution, Zimmer knew that this case was more than a car bombing. The car bomb might have been planted by a Jihadist, but someone had to put out the order and convince the Jihadist that killing Jim Possible would guarantee martyrdom.

The operators were dead. That was enough for many in the law enforcement community. Zimmer wanted the asshole that called the shots. If her boss did not like it, he would have to deal with it.

* * *

Violetta's head swam with all the details about just how to apply the foreign thing call make up to her face. 

What made it harder was that the Middleton, Colorado was 88-percent white, 8-percent Hispanic, 3.8 percent African American, and 0.2 percent Asian. She learned the hard way that make-up designed for the wholesome buxom, blue eyed-blond did not work for her. Her skin tone and features make the standard makeup tones look like clown make up.

After an entire weekend shopping the various makeup counters at the mall, she lucked out to find the only Asian who worked in the cosmetics section to show her how to play up the best of her features with what was locally available. Violetta learned that she would have to order what she _needed_ online or at least wait until she got a chance to visit Tita 'Berta's sister place in San Diego to get the perfect lip shade and eye shadow. For now, she had to carefully mix two different shades to get the same effect.

Her backpack was filled with earrings, make up, foundation, body scrubs, lotions, shampoos, conditioners, scents; everything included a comprehensive set of instructions that she would have to master. She got her ears pierced (having let the holes closed up) again. Toss in the appropriate clothes and Violetta's cash stash was hit rather hard. She went into her room and looked at it with a critical eye.

The only seeming difference between her room and Ronnie's room was all the posters on her wall were more violent. A monster holding up the rotting head of a Zombie was not exactly what one would call setting the stage for a seduction. There was nothing pretty about her room. Just a bed, a dresser, a desk with a notebook PC plugged into the charger, and a full length mirror attached to the back of her door. Carefully she rolled up all her hand drawn posters and put them away. The real Violetta had to be put away. The real Violetta was ugly and knobby-knee and boney-butt and so tomboyish...all the things that Jen was not.

Violetta hated herself for not being the pretty, feminine looking-thing that Jen was.

Looking at herself, Violetta saw the scraped knee street urchin looking back in the mirror. She was wearing black work shoes, black cargo pants, and an olive-drab Bundeswher fatigue top. Her hair was hidden underneath a ball cap. Her clothes were wrong. They screamed battle axe lesbo. Her manner was wrong. Her stance was too masculine. Her steps were too big and aggressive. She did not move with the effortless grace of a model. Everything she was...was wrong.

Being a tomboy worked when all she had to be was Ronnie's best pal. Now she was his girlfriend.

The standards were higher. She had to excite him. She had to captivate him. She had to maintain his interest, no matter how tired, irritable, phony, or pissed off she felt. She had to be pleasant no matter how bad the headaches and cramps from her period were. She had cultured, prim, proper. She had to be _perfect_.

With this war, Violetta _knew_ that she was already competing against every girl at school, let alone all the unmarried females in the world. She had the temporary advantage, but she had to focus on the word temporary. Losing was not an option for Violetta. Without Ronnie, she would be alone in the world without a friend.

There was nothing good about losing. It did not build character. Failure was a habit. The dumb kid was always the dumb kid because it was the kid's habit to be stupid. The same people always came in second. Violetta pride herself in being the best. She got the best grades. She engineered the best pranks. She got the first BF. She beat out the other girls when it came to sports. She won because she made winning her habit. Second place or last place...it was all the same. Losing was losing and close only count in explosives.

As Violetta started putting the old her away she could not help crying.

Ronnie was so perfect and she was so...her. She was so inadequate...so ugly...so unladylike...so unfitted to the task ahead of her. She hated herself so much that she wondered why Ronnie even bothered hanging out with her. He took grief being the _Trash Can Baby's Puppy_.

Violetta removed her all her old clothes and looked at herself in the mirror. Her breasts were too small. She did not have a butt or hips. While she was skinny, her tummy and legs still had some of her baby fat. She had to get rid of it before Ronnie got home.

Tita 'Berta was working late today. As usual, there was some rice in the rice cooker and some chicken adobo. Tonight, Violetta would forgo the rice and just have one small piece of chicken. All protein and no carbs. She would take a scoop of rice and run it down the garbage disposal so Tita 'Berta would not find out that she was cutting back. Tita 'Berta was having a big kick about eating disorders and Violetta did not want to get into an argument with her about images, self-esteem, and food. She knew what she had to be to keep Ronnie.

Violetta had to be perfect...not just good enough...not just slightly better than the rest...she had to set the impossible standards for others to follow in her wake. Violetta had to be so perfect that Ronnie would believe that he lucked out and would never think about running to another big-jug floozy.

It was six o'clock. Violetta grabbed her inhaler. She hated it. The medication was another reminder that no matter how hard she tried that she could not be perfect.

She could not afford to fail. She did not want to even think about the consequences of failure let alone deal with it.


	37. EOD

**Moving On **

**EOD **

**By Pat Squared **

* * *

Reviews are oxygen to my muse.

She is fading fast.

She is turning blue from lack of oxygen.

Review before the paramedics declared her DOA.

* * *

Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD). Those three words were on a stack of 3-inch binders on Special Agent Lori Zimmer's desk. 

These manuals came courtesy of the ATF, Department of Homeland Security, and the Department of Defense. When Zimmer requested a complete report on Semtex, the feds gave her everything that was not stamped top secret.

The overworked investigator did not have the time to read it.

The local EOD squad admitted that all they knew about the stuff was what they learned in the military. Semtex was the Eastern Bloc's counterpart to the ubiquitous military explosive call C-4 and was handled in a similar way. Until today, the only supplies of Semtex in the West were samples for lab analysis and in military stores for familiarization and some of the newer lots for scent detection dog training.

Zimmer had a master's degree in political science. That was the closest she ever got to the hard sciences in college. While she learned a lot about forensics, she was not an automatic expert. Her math skills were limited to balancing her checkbook and figuring her mileage for her expense reports.

Lori needed someone who could sort out all this and give her the Reader's Digest condensed version. What she did not want was someone to generate an official document. Official documents were subject to discovery and she did not want to make some defense attorney's life easier when it came to trial. Let the bastard charge $500 per hour to read this crap. She needed someone who could understand the subject and figure out exactly what she needed.

Looking at the other papers on her desk her eyes caught the photograph of her _niece_ Violetta at her last piano recital.

If Violetta was not thirteen, just a few years older, Zimmer would hire her in a heart beat to do this job. The girl had somehow developed the ability to devour books at a glance. With Ronnie gone, Violetta had the habit of walking down to the local Barnes and Noble, grabbing five books of the shelf, buy one of those fancy imported flavored waters in the café, and read them all in one sitting. It was not photographic memory, but Zimmer would kill for Violetta's reading ability.

However, giving Violetta an explosives manual was like tossing a match into gasoline...scratch that...napalm.

Last year the toilets at Saint Sebastian's Grade School had a habit of erupting into geysers whenever someone urinated in them. Last June, Violetta's boy friend, Ronald Possible, masterminded the toilet bomb attack on the principal Sister Bernadine. Zimmer knew her niece. If Violetta had no part in that toilet bomb prank, then Zimmer had some oceanfront property in Middleton for sale.

Lori's cell phone rang.

_Nagging Nora_, as the overworked investigator dubbed the cell phone's virtual operator, chanted in her Mary Poppin's accent, "Dr. Sanchez, on the phone, Misses."

Lori jabbed at the ANSWER key.

"Hi, 'Berta...Okay...Thanks...Just drop her off...Don't worry, I have lots of documents she can help me push around...Okay...See you tomorrow night."

Lori Zimmer cursed fate as he hit the END key.

Roberta was doing her a huge favor by talking to Kim Possible.

However, someone had to watch Violetta, especially after that _incident_ with her boyfriend last spring. The problem with Vee was that she was too precocious sometimes. Where other girls wished for a pony, Vee was already picking her future husband.

Violetta was too quiet lately and the little girl being quiet meant the same thing as it meant when she was three...something that was not suppose to go on was going on. At three is was painting on all the wall...Now, only God knows. Zimmer shook her head at fate.

Dr. Roberta Sanchez, MD, Ph.D. Psychology, was a genius in getting folks to spill their guts. Whenever, Lori had a tough nut to crack she would call on Roberta to guide her into getting into the nut's mind. However, when dealing with Violetta, the head shrink would consistently strike out. Violetta knew all of Dr. Sanchez tricks.

Lori Zimmer was a good police investigator with a reasonably competent skill in interrogation, but she was not in the league of Dr. Sanchez when it came to figuring out where to start.

However, Zimmer seemed to be able to get the truth out of Violetta, despite the girl being a natural at manipulating people. Law enforcement types did since they developed the uncanny ability to read body language. Violetta knew some of the tricks, but not even an academy award winning actress could hide all the signals the human body expressed.

Zimmer knew the deal. Sanchez will speak to the Possible's off the record and would relay a message to Zimmer if anything important transpired. Since doctor-client privileges apply, Zimmer would get the clue without having to disclose it to counsel. However, Sanchez was trying to get the 411 on Violetta.

Forty minutes latter, Violetta came into the office with a carry-on suitcase. Zimmer noted the new earring and make up. The clothes were causal, but were actually ironed, a first for the girl.

"How many more days?"

"Twenty-five days, three hours..." Violetta looked at her watch, "twelve minutes dot eighteen...now."

_Crap, she is really going gaga over that boy of hers. I heard about it but seeing it live...scary like a fender bender._

"Tell me, what's happening?"

Violetta was about to go on a fifteen minute spiel about all the great things her boyfriend did on the ranch.

"I mean in your life."

"I just went to the mall yesterday. Hit that new place GrilZ-Rack Body Gallery! Here...I'm going to wear it when he comes back."

Violetta opened her bag and should her aunt her new blouse. Lori suppressed a gag. It was virtually transparent and too small even for Violetta's small frame. Shopping, makeup, the new Violetta screamed something in Lori's mind. The old Vee was the like it or leave it look.

"Vee, it's cute. But I suggest you don't wear that one in public. A girl don't give away all her secrets to the world you know – Just for the boy toy...Make it a special shirt that you only wear for his eyes to see. All girls have that special shirt."

Lori hoped the thought would prevent Violetta from wearing that thing in public. If Roberta saw that shirt, she would flip.

"How did you get it?"

"I bought it myself.

"Candy bars and bubble gum got hot the moment the principal removed the vending machine right next to the faculty break room sha...saying about making up give up candy and soda for Lent. That did not exactly go well over with the staff and students. I get stuck with fish on Friday...I made my sac...sacrifice. So I went to Sma...marty Mart and filled up a cooler bag with Coke and candy that afternoon. With a fifty percent markup, I made a hundred a week off that candy ban, at least until the nuns interfered."

_That's true, but not the whole story. I heard about your little casino and how you and Ronnie hustled some skaters at the skate park collecting admission to a free park. Just how much cash have you been hauling in over the years._

Lori remembered running similar scams in the orphanage to get some pocket money. However, Violetta took scamming to a different level. A con man would look at her and find a kindred spirit or a feared competitor. Lori wished that Violetta would either go into law or law enforcement. There she could legally use her talents to get people to do what was questionably ethical.

"So tell me all about him."

By the time Violetta finished describing her demigod boyfriend, Lori Zimmer wanted to hurl. The old Vee was prematurely cynical.

Lori encouraged Violetta to show her the make-up and the other clothes she bought. While they were not as bad as the as the shirt, they screamed the truth. Something destroyed Violetta's sense of self image. The old Violetta was...well Violetta...confident, couldn't care less about fashion. Now Violetta was preparing to seduce a boy that was pretty well snared. Now was not the time or place to straighten the girl out.

Besides, if Zimmer had Violetta for two days, Violetta was going to help out.

"Vee, would you like to make a couple bucks?"

That was like Special Agent Zimmer waving liquor in front of a hobo or crack in front of a junkie, results guaranteed. If there was a loose dollar within a hundred feet, Vee would not be only about to sniff it out but give you its location, its serial number, and the names, addresses, and occupations of the last five holders of the bill. All while she would be putting the bill in her pocket. If the Fed ever wanted to tighten the money supply, all they would have to do is hand the cash to the little girl. The old Vee was so tight fisted with her money. This was the first time that Lori heard of Vee actually spending her money without figuring a way to make a profit out of it.

"I don't have time to read all these binders. Can you read time for me and give me a quick summery? You don't have to write, just use this tape recorder."

Maybe the idea of mayhem and destruction would snap Violetta out of her boy rut. The girl had brains but when it came to a certain boy, they were certainly mush.

_Too bad there was no EOD manual to defuse a hormonally active girl with a base case of the demigod boyfriend. _

* * *

While Violetta was studying the history and intricacies of Semtex, her boyfriend was trying to figure out what was happening to him. 

His body was so crazy that he wanted to go just jump off a bridge or something. His voice can't figure out what pitch it would use so it tried to hit all the notes in a single sentence. His face was deciding whether or not to grow facial hair and settling for rat whiskers. His thing was going nuts. Even beating it several times a day (When he can get some alone time in the restroom) did not prevent it from trying to grow erect at the smallest stimuli.

It was not deliberate on his part.

Just every time he saw a cute female, it went nuts and started growing.

It was not just his Cousin Jen that set him off. The ranch had several older, married, attractive women. Outside the time he spend in the copter moving and tracking the herds, Ronnie could seemingly go on more than half an hour without seeing one and bam...instant hard-on. His dreams were twisted.

Now his wet dreams were not just of what he did with Violetta. His dreams now included an ensemble cast. Vee was the main star, but Cousin Jen, Aunt Joss, half a dozen other married women working on the ranch all were in his perverted dreams all in non-speaking parts. The worst part was when Aunt Joss showed him a picture of his mom, age 16, in a two piece. Now a perverted part of his was even thinking of his mom as a _hottie_.

Thankfully they did not show him a picture of his grandmother at a very young age. If Grandma Possible or his mother appeared in his twisted dreams, Ronnie vowed that he would go to the nearest psych ward and check himself in for the rest of his life. His dreams were totally sick-wrong. What kind of boy got a hard-on from watching his aunt's...well, attractive aunt's butt move as she walks?

Every night, he would jerk himself off so that there would be no accidents. He still shared his cousin's bed and found himself waking up in the middle of the night with her in his arms and his snake trying to escape the underwear and migrate to the nearest cave.

Ronne went down to the bathroom and socked the monkey for the nth time in the night. The problem was that N started at one and as they would say in mathspeak - 'N' was now rapidly approaching infinity.

Once he believed that he was a good boy, at least as good as one can be with Violetta around. Now he realized that he was nothing but one of those man-whores mentioned in _Duce Bigolow_. He grabbed the pillow and a spare blanket out of the linen closet before finding a spot on the rug and going back to sleep.

It was like his body was a ticking bomb. He was so...perverted all the time...thinking about sex...thinking about thinking about sex...trying to hide the fact that he had all these thoughts about sex.

It took two more trips to the bathroom and a very cold shower before he could relax enough to get some sleep. He dreamt of what else...sex.

Too bad his body did not come with an instruction manual on how to defuse his explosively perverted mind.

* * *

Tim Possible was in an explosive situation. 

He had spotted a bear and either shoot it or let it go. Letting it go would make no noise and would not alert any nearby hunters of his presence. Letting it go would mean consuming no fat and no fat would mean eventual death.

Shooting the bear was not certain. Tim had killed deer, mountain goats, and dall sheep when his grandfather took him and Jim hunting. They were small and a .30-06 thirty caliber round was more than sufficient for the task under two hundred yards. However, he still had a similar thirty caliber round but he was hunting much larger game.

Looking down at his wasting frame, he had to take on a four hundred pound creature with a rifle. Tim cycled the action of the bolt-action rifle he got off the dead hunter and chambered a round. He spotted a tree with easily climbable branches. The plan was simple. Get two quick shots off and run like hell for the tree if the bear was still alive.

Tim aimed his shot just behind the shoulder so the round would travel through the heart and lungs. He caressed the trigger as his grandfather showed him.

_Bang._

Tim rapidly cycled the bolt action as the bear turned to face him. He aimed a round in its open mouth and jerked the trigger. Having grandpa yell at you that it was a cardinal sin to drop your rifle ensured that he slung it over his shoulders as he turned to run towards the trees.

Tim ran as fast as he could, but no man could outrun a bear.

It knocked him to the earth and mauled him.

Tim curled up. It was his time and soon he expected the bear to eat him and later shit him all over the woods.

Just as Tim accepted his fate the bear collapsed upon him.

Tim wiggled out from under the bear. He pulled out a knife and handed to Marie.

"Listen to what I tell you. I need you to butcher this bear. Without its fat we will die. Understand."

Marie looked nauseous but nodded. He talked her through the procedure.

He did not remember what happened afterwards save that he was light headed.

* * *

"Tomofey Ivanovich Posibeev. You lost too much blood." 

Tim opened his eyes to see Marie sitting over him with a damp cloth in her hand.

"We were not far from town and so I traded some bear meat and the organs for medical treatment. We are safe for now. You have been asleep for two days."

Tim wanted to bolt up and run, but the pain was too much.

"The doctor told me that if you move, you will reopen the stitches. He gave you drugs for the infection and pain. You were lucky that the bear was not stronger. Men have had their spines snapped in two by a single swipe of the bear's claws."

Tim's senses screamed _get out and run away_, but he could not defeat a newborn baby let alone a full grown man. He could not even roll over.

"We can't stay here. They will..."

"We are safe for now. The cops were here. I...we lost too much weight to be recognized. They accepted my story and your identity papers were good enough. I found some money on you and used it to pay off the police. They believe that we are illegal hunters for bear gallbladers. I need you to swear in Cossack and talk in Russian, no English, nyet English. They also took the bear skin, the rifle, and some of the meat as payment of our fine. I need you to sleep and remember...mutter...swear like Cossack."

She kissed him.

"Sleep well, husband. Soon we will return back to the woods. Just sleep and I will be right here with you."

Marie jabbed something into his leg and the pain dulled enough to let him sleep.

_Tim remembered being hung by his wrists in a cold tub of salt water. Someone was attaching electrical leads to his flesh. The shadow cracked the field telephone. _

_Tim felt the pain screaming through his body. _

_"Confess. Confess. All you have to do is say the words we want to hear. Who sent you?" _

_He replied in Russian, "I have no idea. I am Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev. I am Cossack. I am no spy. My great-great grandfather was sent here because he was Cossack. My family has been here for generations. I am just hunter...just hunter." _

_The shadow paused and attached another field telephone to the circuit. _

_"You are a hunter, my friend. Except you hunt two-legged animals as do I. I recognize the look in your eyes, Cossack. Who hired you?" _

_The interrogation spiraled out of control. _

_His flesh was burned. He could barely see. He stuck to his tale. _

_"If you don't talk, I will make your woman talk. Woman always learns all secrets...even ones we men think we hide from them." _

_Tim whimpered as he heard Marie's screams. _

_"Don't tell me who you want me to confess against. I will tell." _

_"Then come up with good story." _

_"After Chechnya, I wore for hire. I am chiller. Gregory Alexovich had affair with mobster son. Gregory Alexovich turned the son into a fag unwilling to mount whore and give his father grandson to raise straight. That is what I'm told by Boris...I don't know more about Boris...He don't know more about me than my price and how to reach me. Safer for everyone. I got paid five thousand Euros to make it look like robbery. Marie Ivanovna walked in just as I was robbing safe. I panicked and took Marie as hostage. I...I ran. I have killed men...but not unarmed woman." _

_"Thank you. Continue working on the woman. Let this one rest. I want him to hear her screams. Then we give him the hammer and let him live...let him live with the memory of her death." _

_Tim slumped down in defeat._

"Timofey, it's Marie. You were screaming."

He felt an arm draped over his chest.

"Rest. I won't leave you."

Tim wanted to scream _leave me_, but a part of him could not. He closed his eyes praying that he would not return back to the dream.

God did not answer his prayers or at least the way he wanted his prayers answered.

* * *

Violetta marked another day off her calendar. Seventeen more days until Ronnie came home. 

It was a quarter to six in the evening and as was her ritual she removed clothes and examined herself in the full length mirror.

Violetta had vigorously worked out trying to get rid of the last bit of baby fat in her tummy and legs. However no matter how many meals she skimped or how many pushups, laps in the pool, miles on the road, or sit-ups her body stubbornly held unto that last bit of fat.

She was a failure. She failed to be perfect for him.

Violetta had got a copy of the entrance exam results. Both Ronnie and she were being sent to the eighth grade instead of the seventh with their other classmates from Saint Sabastien's. That mean the other girls would be older, probably more experience in stealing another girl's boyfriends, and have even bigger busts that the seventh graders she expected to compete with.

It was like going from Peewee football to the program at USC.

Violetta knew that she could hold her own on the friendship front. Ronnie did not buy into the food chain. However, he was a hottie...a new hottie to the eighth grade girls. That made him like the latest gaming console just before the Christmas shopping season...hot.

Violetta knew that she had to lock Ronnie in. She knew that if she did not distract him from the other girls, that they would seduce him away form her. She would have a week and a half to ensure that he would not stray. She was going to cross the line and seduce him.

Violetta opened her bag.

Going to her regular gynecologist was not an option.

Doctors always talked shop with other doctors and if she went to her gynecologist, Tita 'Berta would find out about the pills. Violetta instead went to a clinic that asked no questions, but handed out pills and condoms like party favors. Starting the first day of her need period, she would start taking the pills. She was not going to loose Ronnie. She was not going to let the other girls.

Violetta wondered why she was cursed to be the _different one.._.the _outcast_.

God had ensured that her mother was a red crystal addict which doomed Violetta to having to take two doses per day otherwise the withdrawal might kill her. God ensured that the medication fried her in the brain enough to have speech problems and yet not enough to not know what was going on. She was the _trash can baby_. She was nobody's daughter, but the ward of the State of Colorado. She did not have a real family, but was merely a foster child subject to the whims of social workers and the family courts.

Ronnie was the only real friend that she had. He stood up for her when it cost him. He let her be his girlfriend. Ronnie was the one constant thing in her life that she could depend on. Now that foundation was being threaten.

Ronnie had everything a girl could want - Looks, brains, loyalty, excitement – he had everything a girl could want.

What did she have to offer a guy besides her body and a sub-par body at that? She had nothing else. Men don't need some crazy chick who can blow up toilet. Men did not need a girl whose talents including running cons or pick pocketing some schmuck.

Ronnie Possible was the son of a lawyer/former teen superhero and a heroic deputy US Marshal.

She was the unintended consequence of a psychopathic, homicidal sexual predator having at it with a child porn rent-a-star.

Looking back, it was her antics that constantly dragged Ronnie into trouble. It was because of her that he was not more like his parents.

Ronnie could be anything he wanted. Born of the perfect parents...Good things...heroics were woven into his DNA. He was smarter than her - the only reason she got better grade was because he was too lazy to do all his homework. He was naturally likeable. He had everything a girl could desire in a boy. The only reason he ever stayed with her was pity.

Vee's DNA...crime and prostitution. She was not good enough for him and when he figured that out, her days as his girl would be over.

In the end, nothing could stop that event from happening, she knew. All she could do was to delay it just a little. And she would willingly sacrifice everything just for that small chance at having a real life and perhaps a real family someday.

Violetta looked at herself in the mirror and cried. She would play her last cards when he came home. In the end it wouldd not matter. He would leave her anyways.

However, she would at least have him for just a little while longer. For that she would sell her soul.

* * *

The Controller went over the details of the Project in his head. The Project from day one did not have any written records since it's inception. It was the first rule of Four rules drilled into all the initiates. 

_If it's not written down...it does not exist. _

_Everything is for the benefit of the Project._

_Results are the only things that matters. Good intentions are not good enough. _

_There are no other rules because rules limit possibilities and constraint thought._

Simplicity and ruthlessness were perhaps the greatest attributes of the Project. He was responsible to his bosses for moving the Project forward, but as long as the Project progressed as expected he did not have to ask permission or justify his expenses or justify his actions.

His other job at Global Justice was just the opposite.

There was too much paperwork even for simply ordering office supplies. Every sheet of paper and paperclip had to be inventoried. Every expense report was scrutinized. He had to justify every cent of his budget to congressional committees and to donors. He spent more time defending his budget than he did investigating crime.

The Project simply gave him a budget of a couple million every quarter. Anything that was not spent ended up in one of many bank accounts that were set up nearly two decades ago by a certain villainess.

Thanks to Shego, he now sat on over a hundred million laundered dollars.

Before the brain wipe that converted her to Susan Lee, he deliberately addicted her to a specially modified version of _red crystal _that would kill anyone who did not have her healing powers. Shego nearly died from the withdrawal before she coughed up the account numbers and passwords to her fortune. The accounts exceeded his expectations. Shego was not only a violent criminal, but actually had brains. Too bad she wasted her life in blue-color crime. If she went into white-color crime, she could have put Liszt to shame.

A part of him just wanted to _off_ the former teen hero turned villain, but she was just as much a part of the project as he was. He personally supervised Shego's mind-wipe procedure and buried the authorization in a ton of paperwork. Dr. Director just signed wherever he applied a _sign here_ tab and it was her signature that turned Shego into Susan Lee and authorized the cover up.

As far as the world and Dr. Director knew, Shego, addicted to drugs and suffering clinical depression, committed suicide by hanging herself in her prison cell. The Go family was given an urn of ashes and they were interned in the Go family plot. They were being watched to see if any other crossed seems promissing. In due time, all their abilities will become Project property.

Ronald Stoppable's genetic sequence was not part of the original vision. It was debated at one time whether or not to arrange a fatal accident so that Kim would be hitched up with another line in the Project.

However the accidental discovery of the Ron factor and his Mystical Monkey Power (MMP) changed his fate. Unlike Kim Possible, Ron was not motivated by the _Do good mentality_. Ron's sense of right and wrong was more flexible then Kim's. The only reason he played the game by Kim's high ethical standards was because of his love for her.

If Kim went evil, Ron would have protected her and be the first to serve as her henchman. Ron's overriding trait was his insane loyalty to those he loved. The _Zorpox episode_ show the Coordinator just how much unrealized potential both heroic and criminal was in the Stoppable DNA. Also Ron had an inhuman level of persistence once he decided on a course of action.

Unlike Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable was more than willing to pull the trigger if the situation called for it. His death was a tragedy. The Committee planed on at least two more crosses to ensure that the death of one failure would not greatly impact the Project. However, field testing was mandatory. Despite his death, Ron Possible passed the test. His genetics survived and remain part of the Project.

The Possible DNA had plenty of traits that were desired...Courage, loyalty, and intelligence, but the Possible _Do good mentality_ was not one of them. Kim Possible was a failure in the eyes of the Project. Even threatened with her death and the death of her loved one, she would not pull the trigger. Her DNA would have been excluded as unsuitable. However, her brothers more than showed the attributes desired. Also since she was the only female to carry Ron's child, her DNA regrettably remanded in the Project.

The son showed promise. He was not a _do gooder_ like his mother. He showed signs of having his father's basic personality, ability to generate chaos, and some hints at possible MMP combined with his mother's intelligence. A copy of the son's psych profile fitted the desired outcome rather nicely. However, there will be additional testing of her child to ensure that he did not carry his mother's weakness.

Shego's DNA had the traits of a criminal...cunning; ferocity; aggressiveness; hunger for more; unconventional thinking; and the willingness to do whatever it took to come out on top. But loyalty was not part of the villainess' genetic sequence. With the exceptions of her brothers and parents, Shego's DNA was composed of thieves, confidence men, murderers, and other criminal types. Tracing her ancestry was a nightmare since just about every generation; one of her ancestors changed their names to evade the authorities.

Shego's DNA was not as valued as the monster's assassin traits. Nevertheless, when you toss in Shego glow powers and rapid healing abilities...Shego's DNA was one more step to accomplishment of the final goal. Crossed with the generations of assassins on her biological father's side, the child Violetta Lee already exhibited the desired abilities. In due time, the chemical that suppressed her glow powers would be withheld. Violetta Lee would be tested alongside the Possible child. If both made it, then the Project would continue quietly for another generation.

The planed cross would result in something quite interesting. Something close to the desired end goals of the Project. However, the result would not exhibit the unthinking loyalty demanded by the Project, but would be the nexus for the remainder of the project. The next couple generations would be focused on turning the wolves into pit bulls.

The Project would not be complete in his lifetime or even in his successor's lifetime. There would be more crosses and many more tests to weed out the inferior genetic material. Then they would bread multiple lines to ensure genetic diversity and resiliency.

In due time, the Project would create the perfect tools for world domination. Something intelligence, cunning, ferocious, persistent, unconventional, aggressive, willing to break the rules, and yet utterly loyal to fulfilling their masters' goals. Unlike technology, these tools would never be obsolete or require an upgrade. These tools would be self-perpetuating. In due time, _Homo sapiens parabellum_ will conquer the universe and the Project Committee would rule over the _Homo sapiens parabellum_.

He was a young teen growing up in an orphanage when he was initiated into the project by the man that he latered learned was his true biological father. His father died as an Omega one step removed from the final level of authority, the Light Bringer himself. The omegas were all born of the project as was he. However, unlike most of the participants in the Project, he knew his role and purpose.

His DNA was part of the Project too. They bred him to two girls in Europe. The names of the girls were not important as his mother was not important. They were selected because their paternal grandfather was once a very successful Bulgarian hit man and their father was a master thief. The girls were now dead and somewhere in Europe, he had two children who would grow up under the watchful eye of another Coordinator. They already showed promise. Should they pass their examination, they too would be allowed to pass their genes unto the next generation.

He was only three steps from his goal. First he had to earn a seat on the commission. It would not be easy since the only way off the commission was death or promotion to omega status – Thus openings were very rare. However, the Coordinator's track record of accomplishments guaranteed him on the short list of replacements.

From there it would take another decade at least to be appointed to omega status by the Light Bringer. The Coordinated knew that he would have to demonstrate leadership, competence, and loyalty simultaneously so that when the Light Bringer stepped down he would ascend to the dais.

* * *

It took thirteen years to locate the child that fate stole from him. 

_Violetta Lee_.

A pretty name that perfectly described a pretty girl.

His child was so perfect to the be instrument that would fulfill all his expectation. His agent had compiled a dossier on the child. Despite not being trained, she exhibited the intelligence, drive, perseverance, flexible ethics, and unconventional thinking of a ninja. He followed her to piano recitals and her sporting events. She always took the top spot being far superior to any of the competition.

His child...He could take her back into his world anytime. She regularly left the house to exercise. However he held back. To grab her and use her now would ruin her potential.

In due time, he would recruit her and train her in the ways of her ancestors. He would have a _kunoichi_ that would be able to infiltrate the old school and kill the old man who held him back from his destiny for far too long. She would be a fitting vessel for any man's lust.

He saw a hint of the beauty that she would become.

A part of him wanted to take her, to devour her, to taste her charms and pluck her flower. However, to do so would not further his long-term goals.

If he was a normal father concerned about the happiness of his daughter, he would be worried about boyfriends. However, he was not the normal father. He was proud of her accomplishments. He was proud that despite being raised over in America, she had the work ethic of a true daughter of Nippon.

There was one more lesson to be learned by his child before he would take her and mold her to be the perfect killing machine.

_Love and loss_.

She was clearly smitten with a boy. He followed her to the family planning clinic and saw her leave hiding a box of pills in her bag. He smiled. Girls don't get the pills unless they expected something to happen soon.

The _kunoichi_ were originally orphan girls adopted into the clan. Agents would buy girls from orphanages or poor families and bring them back. There hired men and women would seduce them and teach them the ways of love before deliberately breaking their hearts. In the depths of despair, they would be offered a chance to get back at their former lover. They would submit themselves to all sorts of perversions. They learned via painful experience to separate sex and love. They learned to seduce and use a man's or woman's lust as a samurai would use the reins of a horse to guide the beast into doing its master's bidding. They would seduce their former lovers and then kill them in the moment of pleasure.

The charms and bodies of the _kunoichi_ were perhaps the deadliest of weapons. Too bad the last of the _kunoichi_ trained in this manner died a century ago. Today _kunoichi_ rarely read the ancient training manuals, and the few that did never had to make the sacrifices their predecessors made for their art.

Before he could complete his child's education, she would have to first give up her flower and then have her gift abused and rejected. She would have to learn that all men deep down were like him...takers. She would have to learn to hate love and guard her heart against it.

He would be watching, waiting, for the moment to recruit her into his world. He would not take her to be his lover. That would destroy the teacher-student bond require for handling such a dangerously powerful weapon. As much as he knew that she, like her mother, could repeatedly endure his lusts taking her to his bed would ruin her for the far greater things that she was destined to do.

He imagined her becoming a goddess like he was a god. He imagined her as the continuation of the ancient ways long since discarded by the weak and frighten. The ancient ways were the keys to his ascendancy. The modern ninja were far too weak for his task. Since the fall of the in Tokugawa shogunate in 1867, the ninja became weak and vassals to the emperor and later the post-war government. Today, they meekly accepted a lowly police post...blah, that was for peasants with delusions of grandeur.

Ninjas once shaped the nation of Japan.

Without the Sanada Ten Braves, ninjas all, Sanada Yukimura would not have lived long enough to crave out a legend. Without ninja, Oda Nobunaga would not have been killed. Toyotomi Hideyoshi and later Tokugawa Ieyasu would have not finished the unification of Japan and Japan would have ended up colonial vassals of the European powers instead of a proud people. Ninjas were the stuff of legends, but many times the invisible intervention of ninjas altered the course of Japanese history.

Soon it would be time for the ninja to act upon the world.

His child would one day take his position and power as she should. The weak merely react. The strong take and act leaving the weak to whimper and moan. She would be strong and in due time she would take and act. Of that he was sure.

To continue his line, his daughter would as some of his ancestress did who seduce a man.

Not just any man, but a man of danger and power – not of connections or wealth, but of the spirit and skill. She would let herself be taken several times, each time weakening the suspicions of the prey. Thinking that she was in love with him, the man would tell her all his secrets. He would rain down wealth and gifts upon her. When she was with child, instead of telling him, she would lie with him one more time. She would take him to the heights of pleasure. He would experience ecstasy and then find himself terribly weaken. His throat would be ripped out at the height of pleasure by her teeth. His power and spirit forever enslaved to her. She would leave with his child in her womb, his blood in his mouth, and his secrets her own to do with what she pleased.

To be dispatched by a _kunoichi_ in this fashion was once the highest honor a victim could be given. To be valued and respected so highly that your killer would willingly carry your child and bring the strength of your bloodline into her clan was to be worthy and powerful indeed.

It was ironic that many a time in the history of the Yamanouchi Clan that the ninja who would be dispatched to kill a certain daimyo would be the daimyo's half-brother, cousin, or bastard son. His own blood ran with the bloodlines of the most powerful enemies that the Yamanouchi Clan. Of the many daimyo, samurai, ronin, rival ninjas, soldiers, and other demons slain by a Yamanouchi only a handful were so honored. Their blood ran through the veins of the Yamanouchi, through his veins, and through the veins of his child. She inherited his spirit. She was of his blood. However to become a deity as he became a god, she like him must love and have that love betrayed.

He was willing to patiently wait for that moment. Time was on his side.

* * *

Bonnie Rockwaller had the keys to the virtual kingdom. 

Intelligence officers around the Globe would trade in their wives, mistresses, and daughter for just one hour of the access that she enjoyed.

Both the feds and the local police used the network servers produced by one of Liszt's subsidiary companies. With a few key strokes and a master password, the former cheerleader had downloaded several gigabytes of data.

Normally she would detail this work to one of her special computer wonks. However, because of Liszt's personal interest in the near death of Kim Possible she decided that it was better for her to personally keep tabs on the investigation herself.

Documents were being ships wholesale over the secure networks between agencies. She winched at the sight of the crime scene photographs, but focused on her task.

Bonnie cleared her mind.

From her years in ballet, she learned one could not perform without a calm, clear mind empty of preconceptions. You did not just do the movement but let the music wash over you...through you. Growing up, ballet practice was one of her favorite times. She was safe from her father and uncle at the studio. She was free of the pressures. There in the music, she was free of all that life inflicted upon her. In the empty mind, she found out that she somehow could see things that everyone else missed.

Bonnie ignored the facts and focused on movements and ripples. Each ripple was the pattern of the present on the past. She felt and experienced each ripple. She mentally became one with the flow and opened her eye to the hidden truth.

The hit on the Russian interior minister, the deaths of Jim Possible and Wade Load, the disappearance of Tim Possible were all ripples from some grand event. She knew that she could not point out exactly what piece of evidence she used, but she trusted her intuition.

Bonnie now had a kind of power over her boss. Slowly she was taking over day to day control of his empire. The other executives stopped reporting to Liszt and started taking their issues to Bonnie. Liszt was stupid about letting someone else be his eyes, his hands, and speak with his voice.

Bonnie had found the connection. Now she had to explore the _Why_. She remembered the scene in the second Martix flick between the trio of Morpheus, Neo, and Trinity and the Merovingian.

_"You come to me without the Why...without power."_

Being powerless in this arena was suicide...both for herself and her son. However appearing powerful was an invitation for your enemies to gang up on you like a pack of hyenas ganging up on an old, solitary male lion. The key to survival was to be powerful and yet appear powerless. With the Why she would know the other answers and more importantly the questions to ask.

The answer was always 42. Now what was the question of life? (i)

Now it was time to come up with something plausible for Liszt to digest. He had grand visions, but it was up to her to cement the details into reality. Soon, she would replace him.

Liszt was old. A massive stroke after a series of small strokes would not raise too much suspicion. As his designated successor, she would step up closer to the source of his power. She would mouth the words of loyalty and bid her time.

Slowly she would shut down most Liszt's illegal operations.

The blue collar crime will go. Sex trafficking would be the first thing shut down. The organ faming operation would be dismantled. The other operations would be sold to those unfit to serve in her company. They were small fry bringing in a few million here and there. They were not profitable enough to justify the liability of being associated with them.

Liszt Industries measured revenue in the tens of billions of dollars annually from its legitimate operations. Risking oneself for pocket change was idiotic. The real money was in manipulating those with wealth and power to invest in you. Then your interests became their interests. They would does a lot and get some profit. You guide them and you will make much more profit and they will come back for repeat business. Everyone makes everyone happy and the dance goes on.

Any fool can order a hit. A real professional foresees the need for future action and with a slight tug guides the errant pawn back into the game and acting in accordance with the professional's goal, rather than just sacrificing it.

Bonnie prepared a standard one page report with a speculation that Jim Possible and Wade Lode were killed because they discovered something and that she would be watching to find out what it was.

Once she was too afraid to think about breaking free.

Since Bonnie was a child wearing layers of pajamas in a futile effort to prevent herself from being molested by her father, the world tried to smash and destroy her sense of self. In high school, she acted the queen to compensate for the fact that at home she was nothing more than a seminal sewer for her male relatives and their perverted pals. However, she survived and grew stronger. Once she would have meekly followed orders. Now she was gaining her independence and her confidence. She would in due time show the world why you don't mess with a little girl's dreams.

She was Bonnie Rockwaller and soon to be the most ruthless CEO on Wall Street. She did not play well with others. She never played well with others. She remembered one thing that someone whispered about her in grade school.

_Bonnie plays mean_.

Bonnie opened up her computer and selected the appropriately illegally downloaded file to a song that gave her hope as a child – Poe's _Control_. This file had been burned on countless CD's and transferred from computer to computer over the years. Although she had a legal copy at home and in her car, she preferred the illegally downloaded version she swiped two decades ago via Napster.

The familiar song played over her computer speakers.

_Don't you mess with a little girl's dream,  
cause she's liable to grow up mean._

_Surprised you to find that I'm laughing?  
You thought that you'd find me in tears,  
You thought I'd be crawling the walls,  
Like a tiny mosquito and trembling in fear._

_Well you may be king for the moment,  
But I am a queen understand,  
And I've got your pawns and your bishops,  
And castles,  
All inside the palm of my hand._

_While you were looking the other way,  
While you had your eyes closed,  
While you were licking your lips,  
cause I was miserable._

_While you were selling your soul,  
While you were tearing a hole in me. _

_I was taking control._

_Now I have taken control,  
Now I have taken control. _

_This is beginning to feel good,  
Watching you squirm in your shoes,  
A small bead of sweat on your brow,  
And a growl in your belly your scared to let through. _

_You thought you could keep me from loving,  
You thought you could feed on my soul,  
But while you were busy destroying my life,  
What was half in me has become whole._

_While you were looking the other way,  
While you had your eyes closed,  
While you were licking your lips,  
cause I was miserable._

_While you were selling your soul,  
While you were tearing a hole in me. _

_I was taking control._

_Now I have taken control,  
Now I have taken control..._

_So this is how it feels,  
To breath in the summer air,  
The feel the sand between my toes,  
And love inside my ear._

_All those things that you taught me to fear,  
I've got them in my garden now,  
And your not welcome here._

_Come a little bit closer,  
Let me look at you,  
I gave you the benefit,  
Of the doubt it's true._

_But keep in mind my darling,  
Not every saint is a fool._

_While you were looking the other way,  
While you had your eyes closed,  
While you were licking your lips,  
cause I was miserable._

_While you were selling your soul,  
While you were tearing a hole in me._

_I was taking control._

_Now I have taken control,  
Now I have taken control... _

Don't you mess with me.

Bonnie Rockwaller Plays Mean: Don't Mess Around with a Little Girl's Dream – If Bonnie ever wrote a truthful book about herself, she had the perfect title.

* * *

i Adams, Douglas. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. 


	38. Turning Point

**Moving On **

**Turning Point **

**By Pat Squared **

* * *

Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev was dying. 

The fevers and the pain only grew as the infection was taking over his body. He had long since resigned himself to death when he first stepped on the road to damnation.

However contrary to his visions, he was not dying alone in the wilderness or an interrogation room. He laid in a small medical clinic in Siberia. For someone who grew up with access to the world's best doctors via his mother's connection, the only two people treating him were an old man whose medical training was torturing dissidents in the old days and Marie.

She could have left him and return to her old Champaign and caviar lifestyle. Marie via her father had more than enough wealth to interact with just about anyone short of the Seniors. And yet, she performed the death watch upon a man who kidnapped her, beat her, and striped her of the life she knew.

"Go back home, Marie. Go back to your father."

Marie just shook her head.

"My father is dead from a heart attack, Timofey Ivanovich. If I go back, the mafia would now only kidnap me, marry some _vor_, and then kill me. It's better that Marie Ivanonva Romanov disappears. The money then goes to the state. No matter how corrupt, they can't spend it all on caviar and furs. Maybe some good would come out of it. I now have to make a new life. For Americans it the West where they go to make a new life. For Russian's we find our fortunes in the East. If you die, I am still remaining in the East. If you leave, I go wherever you go."

If it did not hurt too much to breath, Tim would be laughing. His last days were beginning to sound like one of the tragic love stories his sister and mother swapped.

_Hunted by villains seeking her family's fortune, the princess finds herself in love with her captor to only have him tragically die before they can consummate their love for one another and raise a family in the wilderness_.

If he only had his laptop computer. Maybe he could write novels if he lived. His life was so twisted that he had hundreds of stories.

_Being the most wanted man in Russia while sitting in the number one spot on the New York Times Best Seller list. Just how ironic are you going to get._

Tim knew that these thoughts only offered him false hope. He did not need an untrained doctor to tell him that the infection was spreading. He could feel it.

Now he had truly had another life dependant on him remaining alive. Marie could not return to her old world. She was now...forever a part of his world. Fate ensured that just as he was ready to leave his hellish existence, he would be force to live.

He heard footsteps. It was the old doctor. He was a kindly man who in his youth was too good at extracting confession via torture. Being too good at his job meant his exile during the 1960's.

"I won't lie to you Timofey Ivanovich. You are dying. The infection is spreading. I have seen strong men who died from less. There is only one thing left. It will be painful. I will have to cut into you and let puss, let pus...infection run out. I don't have anything to make you sleep. All I can do is dope you with morphine. I will have to cut you repeatedly. If you live, you will leave this place addicted to morphine. It will still hurt and there will be much scaring."

Tim nodded his head.

"_Da_, better morphine than grave."

He lied. The grave would be a relief. However, he now had a duty. He messed up Marie's life. Now he had to make it up to her.

Marie and the doctor turned him over. He felt the needle and a cool rush running in his veins.

The doctor put a stick in his mouth.

"Bite down on this. Trust me it helps."

Seconds later, the clinic was filled with the sounds of his muffled screams.

* * *

Violetta could not sleep. 

She both could not wait for and dreaded this day.

She had prepared for this day.

She had sent three weeks tailoring her outfit.

It was six in the morning.

As was her habit she would undress, grab her inhaler, and go to the bathroom to take her medication.

She hated it. She would get a euphoric rush. She felt like she was on top of the world.

Twenty minutes later, she would find herself sitting in her own shit and piss. The drug weakened the body so much that the time she attempted to sit on the toilet so that the waste would end up where it belonged...she found herself knocked out on the floor. There was no choice but to lie in the tube and endure the humiliation of being unable to control her body.

She endured this twice a day for all her life and still she could not get over the humiliation. It was something she would never get use to.

She locked the door and got into the tub. She closed her eyes, put the inhaler to her mouth and took a deep breath as she pushed down on the activator.

As was expected, she found herself staring at the ceiling. Up there was a spider spinning its web.

She found herself laughing at nothing and was laughing even harder because she was laughing at nothing.

When the high crashed, the child was crying.

Only Tita 'Berta and Tita Lori knew about what the drug did to her. She hated it. She did not choose this addiction. She did not choose to even use the drug. The addiction was her gift from her biological father, she knew. She knew that if she stopped using the drug she would eventually go into violent seizures and her blood pressure would spike up to near fatal levels.

As usual, she found herself lying in her own feces and urine.

She turned on the shower tap and cleaned herself off.

It was one more reason for Ronnie not to like her.

* * *

Ronnie cursed airplanes. 

First the pilot seemingly found every patch of turbulent air in the sky.

Second, the bathroom broke down just after getting airborne.

Third, the food elevator in the galley was jammed meaning there was no food or drink for the airsick and dehydrated passengers.

Fourth, he was surrounded by people who were very airsick. Correction, he was stuck with people who were made very airsick. If he was not use to flying the helicopter, he too would have puked in the aisle.

He vowed that if he had to go back, he would walk rather than fly on Central Mountain Air. _If the plane did not lose an engine and crash on landing_.

Thankfully, it was a short flight. Ninety minutes, forty five of which was spent in the pattern waiting for a chance to land...crash at the Tri-County International Airport.

Thankfully everything fit in his carry-on bag. If he depended on them to move his suitcase, they would ship his luggage via Timbuktu, the Suez Canal, to Afghanistan, Bombay, the jungles of Laos and Cambodia, some Chinese junk to Shanghai put in some warehouse to rot for a while before being sent back to America just in time for his retirement party.

He had wondered just was he was going to do when he grew up. As a child, he wanted to be cop and later a cowboy. His father was a US deputy marshal killed on the job. If he went into law enforcement, his mom would have a heart attack. The summer at the ranch removed any desire to punch cattle. Flying was dangerous. Riding was dangerous. Shoveling shit and artificially inseminating cows...that cured him of any urge to be a cowboy.

With this flight, being an air marshal was scratched of the list of possible careers for Ronald Possible.

Hopefully the plane would hold together long enough to ensure that he had a future. All that he knew was that he would never fly on Central Mountain Airways ever again. He would rather swim in the lake at Camp Wanawept, play with primates, or run around school naked singing _I am Little Tea Pot_ like that incident in Pre-K than ever fly this airline again.

Hopefully things would be better on the ground. If not, he wanted to hurt some people very badly.

* * *

The old man sat down in the stool and looked straight into Tim's eyes. 

"Temofey Ivanovich. You are a man who lost faith in God and man.

"From the look in your eye, you are in my old line of work. You have learned that those such as we...there is no promise of salvation. I too once believed that I was doing right. I watched as the fascist raped their way into Russia. I was thirteen when they invaded my village. They raped the women, looted the village, and burned down the village with us trapped inside."

The old man removed his shirt. Tim could see the burn scars.

"I was the only one that lived. Somehow, I found my way into the woods. I found a small band of survivors and soldiers traped by the German advance lead by a commissar. I believed the propaganda. I remember when I found my first gun. German KAR98k. I became sharpshooter and killed many fascists with it. Eventually our band was inducted into the Red Army when the fascists were pushed back. I took the long walk to Berlin.

"After war, I was selected for special training and later inducted into the NKVD. Because of my past, I had no qualms about using physical means to extract information. I served in the _psikhushkas_ and later other facilities. Unlike the oppertunist, I was a true believer. I believed every traitor I uncovered would save a village from the face of my village.

"In December 1953, Lavrentiy Pavlovich Beria, the head of the Soviet Security, was arrested and killed on orders by Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev. The new powers feared that if Beria took power, he would conduct a purge like in the days of Stalin. State Security was demoted from a Ministry to a Committee. Many Chekists such as I were either killed or exiled.

"It's ironic that I, a torturer, became the physician. It is only because of my desire to keep my charges alive long enough to properly confess that I ever develop the skills to heal. I ended up marrying the daughter of a kulak, a dissident, an enemy of the state that in my old life I would not hesitate to torture."

The old man put on his shirt.

"I tell you this because men such as we believed two lies. First, we believed that by doing wrong we were doing right. We later believed that there is no turning back once you shook hands with the Devil himself.

"Your girl, she loves you. God sent down an angel to save your soul. She has given up everything for you...it is time that you give up your burden of hate, for her sake. Her heart...her heart is weak as her love for you is strong. She won't last long in this harsh land without you by her side. It's not those who are strong in flesh that thrives in this land, but those with strong spirits. Her spirit is intertwined with you. Live Timofey Ivanovich, if not for your sake, for hers. Turn back from darkness. Here you are not Cossack anymore."

Tim stared off in the distance.

_Drakken killed Ron. _

_Drakken drove your sister to try to kill herself. _

_Drakken is living like a king while Ronnie grows up without a dad. _

He remembered breaking the spirits of dozens of villains. Monkey Fist, DNA Amy, Gill, Motor Ed, Senior Senor Junior, Frugal Lucre, Duff Killigan, Gill, Dr. Fen, Chester Yapsby, Falsetto Jones, and Vincent Wheeler all learned that pissing off someone who once enthusiastically watched videos of his mother's surgical procedures was not a good thing to do.

He replayed their scream in his head as he relived the experience of cutting into their flesh. A part of him learned to savor the experience like one might savor a fine vintage wine.

There is a love between those who give and receive pain...A moment when the spirit was broken...A bond that only one who has experienced it would comprehend. In that moment the receiver total surrenders their entire being like a lover surrendering her body. It was a special moment that the darkness inside him loved. One day he expected to surrender that moment to another and thereby complete the circle.

Now they were asking him to turn his back on everything he knew.

There was no choice. Fate had arranged for him to protect someone who needed protection. Marie needed him. He would never abandon those who depended on him. He would be no longer Timothy James Possible, youngest child of Dr. James Timothy Possible and Dr. Anne O'Conner Possible. He was now Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev, a Cossack hunter and protector to Marie Ivanovna Romanov.

He made the decision to turn his back on his old life.

He closed his eyes and surrendered to the morphine.

* * *

The Brits, French, Germans, Russians, Indians, Chinese, Japanese, South Koreans, and Israelis were all tying to hack into the secure servers made by Lizst's Industries. 

It was not unexpected. It was a brilliant marketing move thought up by Bonnie Rockwaller. They all have bought some of her secure servers. However, exponentially increasing demand for secure communication networks required them all to upgrade their current communication infrastructure. However, Liszt's Industries was an US-based company. Remembering what the CIA did with the Xerox machines in embassies in the 1960's and '70's, no not wanted to give the American the keys to their virtual kingdom.

However, no one each could produce secure servers that had the bandwidth and the Lode's Counter-Hacker AI that the late Wade Lode developed under contract. He was resistant at first, but Bonnie was an expert when it came to dealing with men.

Bonnie remembered the young man fondly. With his acute agoraphobia, it was a shame that he did not get out of the house. He looked like a bulked up young Lenny Kravitz, and his hands. He was as good in pleasuring her as he was in writing code. He was gentle and there was an actual emotional collection between the pair. She kept the relationship ongoing even after Wade delivered the goods. Liszt already had another mistress from the secretarial pool.

_Her lost. _

Bonnie was Wade's one and only lover and he actually had a fond place in her heart. When he was murdered, she quietly arranged things so that his mother did not have to deal with the legalities of the situation. Now a part of her day was spent digging in bank servers looking for the cash trail of his killer.

While the Counter-Hacker AI was the granddaddy of the exact AI that Wade Lode used in his personal system, it was a couple generations ahead of what the competition had. She authorized the ten million payment. Now if it did not produce profits, it would be her head that was _literally_ on the chopping block.

She was in the control room as her technicians monitored the intrusion attempts. With her were all the buyer representatives. If the server AI beat off all the attempts, she expected to earn hundreds of millions. She also was the only one alive who knew the one back door into the system. Although the backdoor looked more like a maze drawn by some crazed monk who spent the last seven decades in isolation than any secret door.

It was hour thirty eight of forty eight scheduled hours, but the Chinese, French, and Russians actually started their attempts twenty four hours prior to the official start time and would keep on hacking away until she had her technicians take the servers off-line. Bonnie would allow them their small deceptions.

Twenty seven hours later, all the representatives signed the contracts. Bonnie Rockwaller was on top of the world.

Twenty minutes later, Bonnie checked her voicemail. It was Tara, her best friend since school and her doctor. What was once of the best days in her life, became one of the worse.

Bonnie had cancer.

* * *

Kim Possible was stunned at Vee's new appearance. 

The old Vee would just shower and put on her trademark olive drab Bundeswher safari style shirt, a pair of black cargo pants, and work boots.

The Violetta Lee standing in front of her was sporting a bob cut with finger waves instead of her normal shoulder blade length straight cut. She was actually wearing make up and emerald earrings. Toss in an sleeveless asymmetry black cotton cheongsam with green trim, Chinese icons, and cucurbit frogs – it put a certain little black dress that Kim once wore for her first real date with Ron Stoppable, the one during the moodulator incident, to shame.

"Do you think Ronnie would like this, Misses Pee?"

_At the rate Vee is going, I am going to be a grandmother sooner than later. I want my revenge but I wanted to wait a while. _

"Why yes. Did you buy this?"

Vee shook her head.

"Tita 'Berta would not let me use her credit card to order online. I could not buy it but no one told me anything about not making one. I found the pattern in a store and talked the lady at the fabric place to give me lessons. It took me three weeks. Tita 'Berta actually ran a credit check on me before she believed I made it."

"Very nice."

_Why me? Is God stilled pissed off a me for the mile high club? Why couldn't Vee wait until she was eighteen before blossiming._

* * *

Ronnie Possible suppressed the urge to kiss the ground upon landing. 

Despite his immense relief, his fellow passengers had continued suffering from air sickness once they touched earth. Vomit littered the ramp.

Ronnie made his out to the waiting area. The second he stepped out a blur of black and green attacked him and he found himself being kissed...by a goddess.

"I missed you really, really bad, naughty cowboy."

She had sucked the air out of his lungs with that kiss. He took a couple deep breathes trying to get air in his lungs as he tried to figure out what happen.

Ronnie looked up into the goddess' green eyes. He could not help but to kiss her back.

"Ain't you going to kiss your mother?"

He turned around to see his mother. He kissed her on the cheek.

"Happy mom."

"I better not see you slipping the tongue to your girl, young man."

Ronnie was overwhelmed.

"Vee?"

The goddess smiled back.

"I would kiss you again, but your mom is getting jealous."

It was like winning the Super Bowl, being voted MVP, being put on parade, and getting the trip to Disneyland.

"You got dress up for me?"

She nodded, grabbed his free hand, and would not let go.

The trio walked to the van. Violetta and Ronnie sat together in the middle seat. When they left the parking structure, Miss Possible had to dig inside her purse to get the cash to pay for parking. Vee leaned over and slipped Ronnie the tongue and whispered in his ear.

_I will be by tonight._

Ronnie wondered what good thing he did in his prior life to end up with Vee as his girl in this one.

* * *

Violetta had played her final card at 12:13 AM that night. 

She would forever remember that time. Ronnie's alarm clock projected the time unto the ceiling.

It was the moment that the foster child had given away her virtue to Ronald Possible.

Contrary to her expectations, he was no Casanova. Ronnie was just a lost when it came to sex as she was. It hurt when he broke her hymen. He was gentle, but it was not like the dirty movies portrayed it. She did not quiver and moan out of control. She did not become an insatiable nymphomaniac. Her first time was painful...but she did not regret sharing her body with her boy friend. If she could repeat the day, she would do it again.

They made love three times that night. Each time was better than the last as they explored each other and found that they could trust one another. As far as Violetta was concerned it would be just the start.

It was three in the morning when she slipped out of his bed and back home to her bed. She had a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. She wanted this relationship to last forever.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Other than some bruising, her body did not look any different than it did earlier this morning when she went with Mrs. Possible to pick up Ronnie.

She was no longer a virgin. She was now a woman trapped in a thirteen year old body. Ronnie was in love with the new her. He made love to the phony her. She knew that somewhere the old her was crying.

Violetta wondered if Ronnie would have loved the old her. However, that question was mute. She had only nine more days until he saw the other eighth grade girls. She had to make sure that Ronnie was too smitten with her to notice their bigger busts. Ronnie was hers and she would fight to keep him hers.

She went to bed. The alarm would wake her up at six.

Soon it would be time for her to take her medication. It kept her alive, but it kept her from being perfect for her boy. She cursed fate for her imperfections. She grabbed her inhaler and went to the bath room to take the damn poison. She would clean off the blood and fluids off her lower parts.

Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow would be another battle in the campaign to keep Ronnie a part of her life.

* * *

From the surveillance footage of the child sneaking out of 145 Able Lane at 3:14 in the morning, the monster instinctively knew that his daughter had seduced her first lover. Unlike most fathers, he was proud of his child. 

She was quite heart-stopping and a part of him was jealous that he would never have her flower like he took her mother. He did not need a DNA test to know that this woman was the child that the necromancer took away from him. Blood instinctively knew blood.

He knew that the young boy would not betray her for a while. He would have to wait for a little while. However, the monster also had a plan just in case the boy turned out to be loyal for too long. He had the tools to ensure that she would forever hate her first lover.

The father stole his first true love. Now the son was going to pay for the sins of the father. The monster knew the lusts that lied within every man's heart. He would use those lusts to ensure that the boyfriend would betray his child's trust in due time.

_There is no greater anger than the righteous anger of a lover scorned. _

The son of his rival for Yori's love would be a worthy first kill for his child.

The thought brought a twisted smile to the monster's face.

* * *

It was not the first time that Tim Possible awoke in the arms of a woman. 

Tim had long preferred one night stands to permanent relationships. It was best for him. It was better for the lady than being caught up in his old life of deceit and dishonor. He got his ashes regularly hauled without paying for a professional and without risking someone getting too close to his shriveled soul.

Today was the first time that he awoke in the arms of a woman that he would keep.

Last night there was no sex. Marie did not have to cheapen herself that way to seize his loyalty. She had more than shown her love for him and he was not going to ask her to lower herself.

Tim turned over and looked at the angel that saved his soul. He leaned over and kissed her. She kissed him back.

Twelve hours later, the demon and the angel were married in a quiet ceremony. The only attendants were the old doctor and the young priest that married the pair.

Tim Possible was entered into the central registry as Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev, former Russian Army NCO and currently an unemployed geologist. The doctor lied and used a dead girl's name for Marie. She was entered into the central registry book as Marie-Anastasia Viktoronva Netrebko, now Anastasia Viktoronva Posibeev.

Later that night, the newly-weds consummated the marriage. He did not know if he would describe what he felt as love. What he did know was that she loved him and she saved his life. That obligated him to be there for her.

He thought back to his old life. His parents would be happy that there would be another potential lines of Possible's in the future. There would be no more arranged blind dates with _girls with nice personalities_. His brother would be upset that he was not the best man. His sister would be unhappy that she could not rat out all his bad habits to his fiancé. He hoped that his nephew would understand why he was no longer hunting down Drakken and prayed that his nephew would not fail down the same path he did.

* * *

Ronnie Possible woke up early and put the sheets into the laundry as Violetta instructed. There was blood and stick fluids on the sheets. Making sure that the machine was running, he climbed into the shower to clean off the last of the evidence. There the double helix of guilt hit him. 

Having an Irish-Catholic mother and a Jewish father ensured that he was issued with the double whammy of guilt.

_You didn't use a condom. It hurt her and yet you still did it. What if she gets pregnant? _

Those and a whole swirl of other issues occupied his mind until he realized that he used up all the hot water in the water heater.

The cold water was hell. However, despite the guilt, his thing was still ready for more action.

Ronnie Possible muttered a curse.

Having sex only made his lust grow. To him, lust was like a muscle, the more you use it, the bigger it got. However, Ronnie Possible knew that would be a price to pay someday. He thought of cooling off the physical part of their relationship. However, if Vee came over, he knew that he would give in and lie with her again. A part of him just wanted to go over to her place and consequence be damned walk up to her room and do it again.

Having been at the farm for most of the summer made Ronnie an early riser.

Violetta was never a morning person, especially when she did not get a good night's sleep. However, he had to see her. It was five fifty-five in the morning. He needed to speak to her about all the confusion in his mind.


	39. Falling Down

**Moving On **

**Falling Down **

**By Pat Squared **

* * *

Please review,

Otherwise my muse may be tempted go on strike.

Please prevent the horror!

* * *

The alarm clock screamed _wake up _in Violetta's ear.

Only having an hour of sleep had taken its toll on the young girl.

"Damn it!"

Violetta smacked the alarm clock sending it flying across the room. The buzzing annoyance shattered against the wall and the girl was rewarded with blissful silence. Most people would then go back to bed, but vee had to wake up.

Being prone to fits of violence when irritated was a trait that Violetta unknowingly shared with her biological mother. She rolled over. She opened her bag and pulled out a pill.

From a lifetime's practive of having to take various forms of medications on the run, Violetta somehow summoned some saliva and swallowed down another one of the pills the family planning clinic gave her. She grabbed her cotton bath robe and her inhaler. She staggered to the privacy of her bathroom.

Violetta hated the number six.

Six started with a 'S' making it one of the dreaded 'S' words that made her stutter uncontrollably.

Six years old was how old she was when she found out that the state decreed her not good enough to be adopted by Tita Berta and would forever be a foster child.

Six was hour of day that she underwent her twice daily humiliation.

Violetta's body was use being medicated at six o'clock. Around that time, she would be more irritable than any heavy smoker deprived of his favorite poison. If she was had any experience with alcohol other than the communion wine, Vee would have compaired it to waking up every morning with a nasty hangover after a competitive round of drinking. Vee at six o'clock was the dictionary definition of a walking nightmare.

Thirteen years of living with Tita 'Berta ensured that Tita 'Berta would not bug her until after Vee got out of the bathroom no matter how violently Violetta abused the alarm clock. If was so automatic that she stopped asking Vee if she had taken her meds.

Vee expected another lecture on taking care of her things. This was the sixth alarm clock the girl smashed this year. It was one of her bad habits and she knew that if she ever moved in with Ronnie she would have to stop smacking things in her sleep.

However that was mute since today her foster mom left for work early living the girl to herself. The alarm clock issue would wait until three when Dr. Sanchez returned home.

Vee closed the door and slipped out of her robe.

She wearily examined her inhaler with contempt.

The medication inside of it ruined everything. The medication was why she was so messed up. However, once as a little girl, she tried to not take it and ended up spending two weeks in the hospital for seizures. The green inhaler was a constant in her life. She stepped into the tub.

So fed up was she that Violetta did not lie down first in the tub before taking her medication. Ticked of at the world, the teen slammed down on the inhaler activator. In doing so she smashed the regulator value. Instead of a mist, it was stuck open spraying out the contents into her airway. Luckily, it was running out and soon she would grab another inhaler. Before she passed out, Vee inhaled five times her normal dosage.

One dose would kill most _red crystal_ addicts. Thirteen years of being addicted to this crap gave her a tolerance to the drug that would stun any user or pusher. However, overdoses were just as dangerous to Violetta as any user. She once accidentally had taken a double dose once to a malfunctioning valve and nearly had to be taken to the hospital. With so much of the narcotic entering her system, the young girl lost consciousness before hit her head on the rim of the tub.

The inhaler fell to the side and rolled under the curtain.

Violetta bleed profusely from her skull as her bowls let go.

* * *

Ronnie Possible knew where Dr. Sanchez hid the spare key to the house. He found the key in its regular place and opened the door. Dr. Sanchez's Mini was not in the driveway. 

_Okay, Ronnie. Don't drop the ball. You two might have had sex, but Vee is still your best pal. She has never betrayed your secrets. She has never put you down. Go in there and be honest with her...she will understand._

And yet he was afraid to set foot inside the door.

_You pathetic lug. You have only been in her house a hundred times before. Vee is not going to rip on you. She did not tell the world that you had bladder issues and wet your bed every night until age ten for Christ's sake._

And yet, one act changed everything about their relationship. Ronnie took a deep breath and set foot into an emotional mind field.

Ron went up the stairs towards Violetta's room. On the way, his bladder told him that he had to make a pit stop to drain excess fluid. He walked towards the door. It was not shut completely.

He pushed it open and saw something that he wished that he never saw.

Violetta was passed out, bleeding all over the place.

His hand touched her. Violetta was burning up and sweating profusely. He turned on the cold water to cool her off before racing downstairs to call the paramedics.

"Come on, don't die on me, Vee."

Vee was not responding. Her breathing ceased. Despite all the hay bales he tossed around this summer, Ronnie was not use to picking up a limp body. He tried, but she was too slippery. It took three tries to get her body out of the tub.

He kissed her and tried to push air into her mouth just like in the television show with the sexy lifeguards.

"Don't die on me."

The paramedic had to pull a panicked Ronnie Possible off the body of his girlfriend.

He stood back as they shoved a tube down her throat.

"We got an OD at 342 Green Apple Drive. Female, Asian, age twelve or thirteen. Subject is unresponsive, is bleeding profusely from the skull. Four to one _red crystal_. Giving her 2 milligrams of Narcan right now."

The paramedic pulled out an ampoule and expertly jabbed the girl in the vein.

"That asshole is why you don't hook a girl on this shit."

Ronnie was stunned. He did not give her anything. He just found her that way.

A sheriff's deputy showed up and arrested him. They were giving him grief, until one of the paramedics spotted her inhaler.

"She's a registered user – Violetta NMI Lee of 342 Green Apple Drive, DOB December 13...Yep, same age and address. It's a legit script, deputy. However this is an lot number old number. This is a 2010-K-9342 series, thirteen...fourteen years old. Definitely a custom mixture...Came out of Middleton Hospital Pharmacy."

The deputy opened it and spotted the busted valve.

"It's a legit user...busted regulator valve. She probably expected the usual to happen every day. Instead of one dose...the valve stuck. If you walked in while it was spraying kid, you would be dead or in a coma and having to take this shit yourself. Sorry kid, when we see these...incidents, _assholes_...pardon my French, hook up young girls unto this to get them to do things. Once you're hooked, you keep on using or you die. Look at her kid, that is what happens to them all in the end. They OD or die. Shame, she was a pretty girl."

Ronnie huddled in the corner as they put Violetta in the ambulance and took her to the hospital. She was still alive and yet the cops and paramedics all talked as if she was already dead.

Another detective came by and asked him a lot of questions until they called his mother to pick him up. The world had found out Violetta's big secret, the one that she would never share with him. He felt like he betrayed her when she needed him the most.

* * *

Things were worse at the hospital. He had to relate every second of what he heard and saw that morning to Dr. Sanchez and his mother. 

The worse part was looking at his best friend hooked up to machines and a Christmas tree of IV's bags.

"Thank you for saving my child, Ronnie. You were there for Vee when she needed you the most. They will have the stuff out of her by tonight and she will be back home in time to go to school."

Ronnie exhaled.

"Now I have to tell you that you now hold unto Vee's biggest secret. As far as she will know and the world will know, Vee took a shower, was walking in the hallway, slipped, fell and cracked her skull. You stopped by and found her in the hallway. Otherwise..."

"What about her..."

Dr. Sanchez silenced him with a cold stare.

"...Red crystal addiction. She has been addicted since birth."

Dr. Sanchez sighed.

"Have you ever heard of the MID Killer? The MID Killer had only one victim that survived long enough to tell what we know about him. That victim was Violetta's real mom, Susan Lee. Susan was ten or eleven years old and eight month's pregnant with Vee. To keep Susan under control and from running away, the MID Killer addicted Susan to _red crystal._

"Violetta was born addicted to the drug. She is a miracle baby, Ronnie. Most babies born die within a year and those that make it are severally mentally impaired. All Vee has is a stutter. Every day, twice a day, she has to take that poison or she will die. Tonight, the nurse will give her a dose. She will require a dose everyday for the rest of her life. Maybe when she is older she may...may survive quitting. However there is a sixty percent chance she will die if she does so.

"Now you know the two things she did not want you to find out about her. Vee is crazy about you. She actually looks up to you. If she knew that you knew about her health problems and her father...let us say despite my degree that I don't always know what goes on upstairs in her mind sometimes. However, I do know that she is very sensitive about some things. Even though she thinks that she is a grown up trapped in a little girl's body, she is still a little girl with a girl's insecurities. She is afraid that if you knew that you won't like her anymore. She like...loves you Ronnie. If she feels that love is threatened, she will go to extremes to save it. You catch my drift..."

Some times, Ronnie could be clueless about things. However, there were times that he knew something was going to happen. He knew that the talk was not over.

"Ronnie, you know that Vee sometimes does crazy things...things that might seem crazy to us but to her seem the only sane thing to do. If she feels that she is losing you, she will try everything in her power to hang unto you. I know that she blew a big part of the cash stash we are not suppose to know about on being pretty for your return because she was afraid that you would not want to be around a tomboy. All Lori and I heard this summer was a running countdown until you came back and all the great things you did at the ranch. If I afraid that she will do anything."

Ronnie now knew that topic was going to be about sex. He felt his face turn brilliantly red. He could hear Vee's voice in the back of his skull.

_You are blowing your cruel, glow face boy. Right in front of the 'rents. Didn't I teach you any better. A glow face boy is a grounded boy. Relax. Breathe. Think of som...something nice and relax._

However the nice image of Vee in her birthday suit was replaced by the image of what he saw that morning.

"...There is no way your mother and I can prevent two determined teens from having sex. We can use the scare tactics...threaten to amputate your manhood...show you videos of Vee's birth...try to keep an eye on the two of you, but in the end, we can't stop you. The two of you have to make the decision.

"A girl's first time is special. It is painful and when a girl let's you be her first, it speaks not only of love but of a certain level of trust. Ideally the two of you would wait until you got married. However, if you can't wait I just ask three things of you. Don't boast about it afterwards. Use protection – Violetta can not risk having kids until she is off the medication or your kids will suffer Violetta's addiction.

"Most importantly, make sure that she wants to do it...not that she has to do it to hang unto your love. Otherwise, it ruins her gift and turned her gift into a commodity. If you truly love Vee, she should never be pressured to feel like she has to trade her favors for your love. Sex is supposed to be a celebration of your love, not a swap. Remember that...Honor what I told you, and I won't come after you with a rusty bolo knife. Understand."

_Great Ron, you have gotten the warning exactly eight hours and twenty three minutes too late. Christ you should have known what was going on. Vee did it with you because she is afraid, Ron! You of all people should know that she would die before admitting to fear. _

_Remember the time you kidded her about her fear of heights at the pool. _

_Vee climbed all the way to the top of the tower. She was crying all the way up but she dived off so that she would not look like a coward in front of the class. She signed up with the dive team to prove to the world that she was not afraid of heights and yet every time before a dive meet, she is on the verge of a panic attack. _

_You know that when she is the most afraid that she would perform the riskiest stunts to prove to the world that she is not afraid. _

_Having unprotected sex is just about the riskiest stunt the two of you pulled. _

_Christ, what the hell are you going to do if Vee get pregnant. _

_How are you going to support the kid? _

_All you know is flying choppers, shoveling shit, and artificially inseminating cows. You know the drill; put semen in pussy, exactly what you did last night. The cows all got knocked up on schedule. What makes Vee any different?_

Last night, Ron thought he was the luckiest boy on the planet. At eight thirty six in the morning, he realized that he was the biggest jerk on the planet. He had taken advantage of his best friend's desperation for acceptance.

If his mom and both of Vee's _aunts_ knew...Special Agent Lori Zimmer would ensure that he spent time with the meanest male rapist in prison. Dr. Sanchez, MD will castrate him slowly without benefit of painkillers. And mom would actually go get his father's GLOCK and start shooting off pieces of his anatomy one digit at a time.

* * *

"You know...Don't even bother to lie to me, Ronald Possible." 

Vee's first words to Ronnie told him that the game plan of lying to her about the incident was dead on arrival.

"You know about my problem. I understand if you never want to be near me again. I don't even want to be near me at times."

Ronnie shook his head.

"Tita 'Berta can't lie to me. When she lie, her left eye darts around faster than the right. You just glow even redder, glow face boy. Right now, your face is redder than your hair. Be honest, tell me how you feel. I expect the worst."

Ronne squeezed her hand.

"Vee, I have been the biggest jerk. You...I had sex because you were afraid that I would run off if we did not. You never have to buy my love. I love you, Vee. Since Pre-K, we stuck together. I am not going to break up the team now. If anything happens...you get pregnant, I won't run away. I will face the music even if I have to end up dodging Bubba in a six by nine cell for the next ten to fifteen years."

Violetta looked around to make sure that the 'rents were not nearby.

"Me getting pregnant now definitely would not go over well with the 'rents. I went to the clinic. I'm on the pill. I need you to do me a favor."

Usually _I need you to do me a favor_ meant detention or grounding in Ronnie's near future. However, he would still do it.

"I need you to get the pills out of my handbag before Tita 'Berta finds them and grounds me until I'm eighteen. Go to my room and get me my old cloths...the ones I use to wear before I got gaga about all that girly crap. Don't forget those boxers, bra, and my flip flops. I don't want everyone in the hospital to look at my butt when I'm walking out. Bring me the pills and the clothes this evening after seven. Also, I put the posters in the closet. Hang them back up for me. Thanks."

He kissed her and she slipped him the tongue.

"I thought..."

"You thought wrong...I might loose my marbles, but I don't regret last night. What you did for me when I fell only made my memories of what we did more...spec...spec...special. If you were willing to help me when I was really a mess...I know that that you will always be there for me, even if your face glows like Rudolf's nose."

Vee waited until she was left alone before breaking down and crying.

_Ronnie's too good for me._

Vee knew that she would be his for as long as he wanted her.

If the official boyfriend girlfriend routine did not work out, she would still be Ronnie's best friend/body guard hopefully with regularly exercised bed privileges.

If any girl ever broke Ronnie's heart, that _bitch_ would answer to her.

There was an unexpected benefit to being the girl that everyone fought back in elementary. Not only was she motivated enough to master up several styles of kung fu, but she was the meanest brawler to come out of St. Sebastian's Catholic Grade School.

Ronnie was not bad when it came to brawling, had some talent...but he was not as hard-core vicious as she was in finishing off foes. He would never make the bastards eat dirt. By fourth grade, no one messed with Vee and Ronnie.

Worse yet, Violetta was the ultimate prank master. Not even the legendary embarrassment ninjas could out prank her. Those eighth grade girls would not stand a chance. Exploding toilets were so last year. With Ronnie's computer program, she would just have to plant it in a certain clinic's computer. Imagine calls about birth control pill prescriptions and pregnancy test results coming at dinner time to the girl's parents. If she was not ordered to stay in bed, she could dance to that tune of outrage all day and night.

Reflecting back - Falling down was perhaps the best thing that happened to her. She learned that Ronnie still liked her even if she was not perfect. She would still dress pretty for him from time to time, but Ronnie did not care about perfection. It was like facing the firing squad and getting a reprived.

Failure snapped her out of living a life as a fraud and possibly losing Ronnie when he got fed up with her icky phoniness. She had almost become a Marsha Whiteman, the _queen bee_.

However, it did not mean that she had to like the taste of failure. Violetta hated failure. Violetta hated coming in second place. She would still push herself to be the best at everything she tried...that would never change.

Other girls did not know just how loyal their BF's were. She now knew that she could rely on Ronnie all the way when she was on the short end of the chip stack. She closed her eyes to escape her pounding headache. She would be popping Moltrin like candy for the next couple days. Tomorrow, she would work on her next scheme.


	40. Changes

**Moving On **

**Changes **

**By Pat Squared **

* * *

Robert Roger Rockwaller seemingly was the perfect student athlete destined for greater things. During his last two years in high school, college football programs from across the country sent recruiters to try to pick him up for their programs. He seemingly had it all. 

Rockwaller was the nation's best high school middle line backer known for traumatizing anyone with the ball. He was healthy with no injuries. His GPA and test scores were so high that he could easily qualify for a four year academic scholarship at MIT or Cal Tech. Sport's casters across the nation have breathlessly repeated the story of how Robert 'Triple-R' Rockwaller was dubbed the Reckless Rail Road. He was ruggedly handsome and well spoken despite his tendency to be camera shy.

However, Robert cared nothing about that right now.

He watched as his mother was slowly dying.

To Robert, his mother was the only parent he knew.

On occasion, he encountered his so-call father, Josh Mankey. He hated the man's guts. The _monkey man_ only reappeared in his life once his mother was climbing up the corporate ladder to _try to reconcile for Robert's sake_. Robert did not know what ever possessed his mother to do the dirty deed with that jerk of a man who was his father. Robert believed his father cared about him as much as he believed the current president was a transvestite who held orgies every weekend in the oval office for visiting extraterrestrials from Roswell, New Mexico.

Josh Mankey was some artsy type that was clearly an equal opportunity swinger. Because Mankey did not step up to the plate, Robert's mom had to juggle work, college, and raise Robert by herself. Robert thanked fate that he did not have to share the same last name as that _walking obsentity of a monkey_. To Robert, his mother was the real hero in his life and he never vowed to let her down.

No matter how much his mother told him to have faith in God, Robert could see that chemotherapy and radiation therapy were only killing off his mother all that much faster.

Legally the death of his mother would not change a thing.

Robert had just turned eighteen.

His mother was not just only one of the most powerful figures on Wall Street, but was a crafty legal mind that had long ago carefully set up network of trusts that would ensure that even his grandchildren's grandkids would never have to work a day in their lives. He would go to the Viterbi School of Engineering at the University of Southern California on an academic scholarship instead of a sports scholarship so that he could work. He knew that he needed to so something otherwise he would go bonkers once his mother slipped away. Besides, they could hand that sport's scholarship to some other needy kid.

The recruiters at the football program thought that he was nuts. His future screamed NFL, they yapped. They told him that he should focus on football and he should go pro.

Robert was too smart and ambitious to waste his life and health playing professional football

To Robert, football was just an activity where he could legally release his anger at the way that the world treated his mother by assaulting whoever had the football in his hands.

When he was younger, he overheard his aunts whispered that his mother was a slut and would never amount to anything more than being a hooker at a truck stop. He overheard his mother's coworkers saying that his mother was only hired because she clearly slept her way to the top. Now that his mother was the one actually running the day to day operation of one of the most envied companies in the world, they all treated her with respect to her fact and yet still whispered rumors behind her back. Robert hated folks like that.

Every time he was on the field, he imagined the guy with the ball to be his worthless father or one of those damned backstabbers. His efforts had enriched many a doctor and earn him the reputation as the Wrecking Railroad.

His mother worked hard. His mother sacrificed so that he would not lack for any of the necessities. Unlike many rich parents who ignored their kids, his mother did not just pacify him with goodies. His mother actually spent time with him, molding him into the type of man that his _father_ would never be. The thing that Robert hated the most was phoniness. He talked straight. If he hated someone he would let them know in no uncertain terms. His mother taught him how to be polite, but he just ran with the phase – If you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all.

Robert did not believe in luck. To him, luck was just taking full advantage of every opportunity and working hard to ensure success. His mother taught him that truth long ago.

However this situation challenged his belief in everything he knew.

It was ovarian cancer.

It was no one's fault.

It just popped up when the lab tech ran the wrong procedure while processing his mother's blood for her annual physical. If it was not for the lab technician's misreading of the lab procedure schedule and testing the wrong vile, they would not have known for another six months when she would have been literally dying from pain.

His mother's best friend, Dr. Tara Strong, MD moved fast and ensured that his mom went to the best oncologists and surgeons as soon as possible for treatment. It just happened and despite the surgery, radiology, and chemotherapy sessions, the cancer was malignant and spreading. If was not a matter of if but when...Hard work, exercise, healthy diet – His mother did all these things all her life and still...

_Why couldn't it be my dad? That deadbeat is an alcoholic, overweight, eats crap, and had a cocaine nose job. And yet his health is not hurting one bit. If he tries to buddy up to me now..._

His other relatives were already circling like the buzzards over a dying cow in the desert. His mother rebuffed them, but they tried to make up all nice to him.

_Parasites_.

Robert knew the game all too well.

His grandfather and aunts had cast his mother out of the house when she got pregnant with him. They had betrayed her when his mother needed her family to support the most. Now that she was dying, they all wanted a cut in of his mom's money.

It all seemed crazy to him. The Rockwaller's were not some red neck trailer trash dreaming of one day living in a doublewide. The Rockwaller family own copper, gold, uranium, iron, and silver mines throughout the Rockies, real estate in California, Atlanta, and New York, oil and mineral rights up the kazoo, and were worth fifty times as much as his mother.

The Rockwaller's were old money and made their money just like every great family in Middleton did – Steal Indian land, drive or kill them off, speculate on the property, and got rich when the railroad finally ran through town. The Possible's, Barkin's, Strong's, Lee's, and Renton's all the founder fathers of Middleton made their name in the land game. Whereas the others, then settled down to quiet mediocrity, the Rockwaller's then use their fortune to make sure that they were the only grain buyers that the railroad will deal with and ripped off the farmers.

The Rockwaller's needed more money as much as he desired a sex change operation preformed by a blind man with a dull rusty spoon. Yet they were after his mother's money.

It was not going to happen.

His mother and some of the best legal minds in the United States had locked in the estate until the Democrats ensure that the country goes Communist. Everything she had went to a network of trusts. Some would support charities that his mother generously gave to all her life. The rest would be professionally managed with monthly outlays to him and any offspring he may have. If there were no kids and he died, it all would go straight to charity. Not a single cent would be given to the Rockwaller's.

Robert drove his mother home from the hospital. As soon as he turned off the ignition, she looked at him.

"Robert, nothing is working. Odds are this is the last Christmas we will have together. There are some things I need to tell you before I go...some things won't be easy to hear and you probably won't forgive me for them."

At the end of his mother's confession, Robert's wished that he was six again. At six, he believed that people were basically good. Now his illusions were shattered. Now he knew that his family was as twisted as a tangled telephone cord and only the fact that he was a boy prevented him from having to suffer as his mother suffered. She had sold her soul for his sake. He now had more reasons to hate his grandfather and aunts. He added Drakken's/Liszt's name to his short list of enemies.

Robert stilled loved his mother. He always would for he was her son. One day, the Rockwaller's and Liszt will be dragged down into the sewers where they belonged. That he would do.

* * *

Kim Possible and Dr. Roberta Sanchez could not figure the children were doing. 

Ronnie and Violetta were stringing the Christmas lights on both the house a little early in the year. It was only early October, but she woke up to see them in their summer clothes racing up and down a ladder as they stung up the lights.

Their reason sounded logical enough. It was much safer to do this before the snow and ice came. However, this was another act was a series of illogical acts the kids pulled.

Things were why too quiet.

First, there were no phone calls from the school about Ronnie or Violetta pulling an outrageous pranks or even cutting class. Both Kim and Roberta knew deep in their heart of hearts that the pair were running some elaborately planed scheme. However, despite the brothers at the school keeping an especially close eye on the pair and doing _random locker checks_, there were hints that something evil was afoot.

Second, despite keeping a close eye on Ronnie, there was no hint that he was doing anything more than kissing his girl and even then there was no tongue. Kim knew the look in Violetta's eyes and knew that the pair was successfully hiding something. Kim had tracked down super villains and now she could not defeat the plans masterminded by a pair of teens.

Lastly, the pair was acting funny. They always did. However, now they were talking about _in-nies and out-ties_. She hoped they were talking about belly buttons, because no mother wanted to think about her baby growing up and doing the mattress mambo even though they were not opposed to the concept of grandkids in the distant future. They were acting like they were seven again, except they were too good about covering their tracks...Especially Ronnie who was the weak link when it came to hiding secrets in the pair. There were some days that Kim swore that her son had to be channeling Zorpox.

There was a very profitable scheme in the works. Kim noticed that Ronnie stopped asking her for money. Roberta reported that Violetta's cash stash was growing at an accelerating rate, faster than the odd babysitting jobs Violetta handled could explain. Roberta reported finding five hundred dollars in the stash that she knew about.

Kim swore she overheard the booyah-haha laugh erupted from Ronnie's mouth as Vee tickled him in the ribs.

Her son was _definitely_ channeling Zorpox. Ronnie was so much like Ron that every time she had him pegged down, he would pull off a surprise move...just like his father did.

_Ron, I wish you were here. You are just about the only person I know that can find out what your son is planning and push the self-destruct button before he gets into serious trouble._

Kim knew that there was trouble on the horizon. With these kids, there was going to be trouble when things were quiet. Things have been quiet way too long and the longer they go quiet, the bigger the ticking bomb in the end would be.

Kim started running down the list of possible things.

Drugs...Because of her forced addiction to Red Crystal, Vee hated drugs and would not tolerate drugs.

Cigarette sales...Possible but somehow Kim knew that there was not enough fun. The scams the kids pulled had some element of fun.

Lasers...fourth grade – the two caused all the pink slips in the school detention file to mysterious ignite with an invisible laser.

Miniature spinning tops of doom attacking the car tires of faculty...fifth grade.

Mutated animals...Vee had a _strict don't mess with my dog_ policy and besides her eight year-old pit bull, Baby, was already a bit overprotective of the kids. If some mad scientist ever mutated Baby...forget Commodore Poodles...Baby would loyally do anything that Vee ordered.

Pan Dimensional Vortex Inducer...those thankfully were destroyed before Ronnie was born.

Clothes-eating nanobots to embarrass the principal at a school assembly...fourth grade.

Sticking rivals together with super bonding glue...third grade.

Cloning...Kim had _accidentally_ poked Ronnie with one of her sewing needles this morning while hemming his pants...definitely not a synthdrone.

Charging admission to a free public stake park...last spring.

The Evil Siamese Twins, as the pair were dubbed, had a rule that they would never repeat an old scam that did not pay off.

Computer hacking...Kim believed that she had that base covered.

Kim had Wade put a custom hacking program on Ronnie's computer allowing her to see what he did form her computer. However it did her little good. Ronnie had charmed Wade to show him the basics. To Kim programming was like cooking. Over the years, Kim had found out that she was not quite the girl that could do anything. All she could really do was see what websites her son was accessing. She found some porn, but going ballistic over porn sites was not going to get her closer to finding out what her son was really doing.

Kim Possible had overlooked an innocuous file called Est061512102011.

The millisecond that Kim access Ronnie's computer, she gave Ronnie total access to her all her files including her very confidential diary plus a video of Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable that Kim would have a very hard time explaining to her son. The Est061512102011 virus nested itself into her system. Within twelve days, the Est061512102011 virus somehow hacked into Microsoft's network and would become part of every operating system upgrade.

Within thirteen days, the servers of the top seven antivirus software providers all included a little module that spread Est061512102011.

Within a month, just about every computer system in the world with the exception of Liszt's Industries Latest Generation Secure Servers was infected with Est061512102011. Wade Lode's Counter-Hacker AI noticed the attempt but because Est06122011 had a certain strand of code unique to Wade Lode's handy work, it did not alert the technicians. Wade programmed his systems not to rat out on one another to the outsiders.

The greatest prank that was ever pulled by the Evil Siamese Twins just went Global.

* * *

Liszt cured fortune. 

Sure his current lover could make him coco-moo.

Sure his current lover could keep him entertained in bed.

However Liszt was in the middle of a crisis.

The moment that Bonnie Rockwaller was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he had to find a successor for her.

However, finding the perfect replacement was impossible. A squeaky clean CEO could not just go and open an issue of Villain's Magazine and peruse the _available for work_ ads for a number two. He had plenty of talent that could handle his legitimate businesses, but who was going to coordinate the blackmail, bribes, and hits. His legitimate lieutenants were specifically hired because they were clean...in a criminal sense.

He was a vision person. That was his strength. However, he was a poor planner and executor.

He would give Bonnie his vision and she would do all the tedious planning that converted his visions into reality.

Bonnie was the one who masterminded getting in controlling the world's government secure networks and getting the health and insurance services contracts for just about every government employee and politician and still turn a profit. She was the one who oversaw a network of private investigators who gave her the juicy gossip on everyone from who was having sex in the Oval Office to who was patronizing the child brothels of Cambodia, Laos, and Thailand. The only thing he handled in years was the sex trade and organ farming since she absolutely refused to touch those rackets. Bonnie was a white collar-crime genius and laughed at the pitiful sum that tradition crime brought in.

Bonnie even had a team hack into the Vatican computer system. Who said confessions could not be interesting. Too bad the other churches did not relay the juicy stuff back to their superiors.

Bonnie even managed to get several blank presidential pardons just in case Global Justice figured out who he really was. As long as he was in America, no one could legally get him. Not even Kim Possible who prosecuted criminals with the same fury and efficacy that she exhibited in stopping super villains nearly two decades ago.

He needed someone willing to be dirty and yet be loyal. Bonnie, he knew, hated his guts and personally would love to sick the Possible's on him, but as long as he had an option contract on the life of her son, she played by his rules. He needed to find someone just like her.

Bonnie had all his secrets. However he knew that she would take them to her grave for her son's sake...that he was sure of.

He couldn't be more wrong.

* * *

Marie-Anastasia Posibeev knew that a new life was growing inside of her this very minute. She wondered what she was going to do. 

As a child, the doctor told her that she could not risk having children because for her heart condition.

Timofey, her husband, knew that she was pregnant. You could not live in a one cabin hut and not know that your spouse was throwing up every morning. However, Marie found herself not only sick in the morning, but in the evenings too. Whoever called morning sickness morning sickness was probably one of the propagandists for _Pravda, _the Communist-Era newspaper.

It was hard for the two of them. Timofey had fraudulent identity documents done by a professional he called Wade, but nothing would stand up to a detailed background check if he applied for a government position or a sensitive position in the mines.

To make money, Timofey was working in town as an English language translator.

The local mining company bought their machines from Caterpillar and needed someone who could translate the English operator and maintenances manuals into Russian. Bringing in an outsider required a lot of money and paperwork. Timofey agreed to work as an independent contractor. It ironically required less paperwork and money to set up Posibeev Professional Services and the bank accounts than to vet and bring in some university graduate from St. Petersburg or Moscow. He also translated between the American technical consultant/overseer and the locals when he was at the site. He was fast in translating verbal Russian, but now he was dealing with a Russian keyboard for the first time in his life.

Every evening, he would curse like a Cossack about why everyone couldn't use the same alphabet. Marie then told him to delegate the typing to her. She knew her way around the Cyrillic keyboard like he knew his way around the American QWERTY keyboard.

He was still weak from the bear attack and utterly addicted to morphine. He got very sick trying to dry out and nearly died from the fevers. It was too soon for someone as weak as he was to dry out.

Marie found a second job working as a cook's assistant in the local canteen that the mining contracted with to prepare meals to be sent down to the workers. That way no miner could smuggle out any ore in a lunch box. She did not know how to cook, but she was a quick learner. Cooking two meals for one two hundred men a day was the ultimate crash course.

This was supposed to be the happiest moment of her life. She had a loving husband. She was going to have a baby. She was free of all the rules that held her done all her life. However, she would have to face the fact that she might not live long enough to see her child.

Marie wiped her face with a damp cloth and put on a smile for her husband's sake. He could not know about this now.

Marie wondered what was going to happen. Things were changing and yet she had to be solid for everyone's sake. A stiff upper lip...that's what the English called it. She had a lifetime's practice at faking courage, but she knew that she would have to soon prepare her husband for the brutal truth.

* * *

Violetta turned on her notebook PC the second she got home from school. Ronnie had to go to the dentist so she had nothing to do but homework until her came back. 

As was her habit, she first hacked into the school computer and double checked the interoffice correspondence. Most of it was mundane. Some jokes in bad taste, but nothing juicy. She closed out of the school and decided to see what was in the clinic computers.

She was not the only girl in St. Francis Xavier Catholic Middle School to get her birth control pills from the clinic. She spotted two names of her fellow classmates and the dates of their next appointment. There was not much else since everything else was in the paper file.

All of Ronnie's and Vee's old classmates were in the seventh grade. The seventh graders did not matter anymore. They tried to get the eighth graders riled up against the pair, but to the eighth graders the seventh graders were refugees from grade school.

When Ronnie and Vee got bumped up to the eighth grade, their social status among their peers underwent a dramatic change for the better. In eighth grade, the old trash can baby label was dropped. Girls sized themselves up in a different kind of hierarchy based upon looks and who got the best boyfriend.

Vee now had a good reputation due to her snagging the biggest hottie in the eighth grade.

The other girls and boys went through eight years of school together and so they got to see all the crude things the boys did growing up. That lowered the boys' score on the hottie scale...if a certain boy constantly picked his nose at age eight, he went from an 85 (okay, cute, I will kiss him) to a 65 (only if I'm drunk and the continuation of the human race depended on my liking him for two seconds in private and no one ever hears a peep about it) when he was 14. Ronnie did not have that kind of baggage.

All they saw was a ripped red-head in a well fitting school uniform (Vee's doing) and were devastated when they saw him kiss her. She dressed the part on the first uniform free day. She knew the game, just as well as any potential queen bee. She scored a coupe and then carefully positioned both Ronnie and herself above the status game.

It was much more profitable that way.

Her scams were quite profitable...too profitable. Everything was going so well that it was scaring her. Scams required a certain amount of work to keep moving.

The after school poker club was turning over seventy five a week in antes and she regularly won. Not big spectacular pots...she let others win those so the game was not perceived to be rigged. However, she won a steady flow of small pots to avoid jealousy. That was good for another fifty to seventy five.

The Club Banana One Time 40 Discount Card scam was turning over two fifty a week. Violetta had swiped a bunch of cards while one of the cashiers drooled over Ronnie. Now she was selling them to the girls for ten a card. She had two weeks supply left, and then she was going to let the scam die for a while. The cashier was not pretty, but Vee did not want to take the risk. Only one girl was allowed to try Ronnie on for size and it was Vee.

Ronnie and Vee had actually scalped tickets to the drama club's play buying them at the advance price of four dollars. Violetta was technically in the drama club since they needed someone who could play piano when the music teacher broke her arm. She worked out a deal with the other club members to go selling them for $7 retail on the street. It was not _legally_ scalping since the ticket said seven dollars...she actually read one of Misses Possible's law books. For each ticket sold Ronnie and Vee earned a dollar and the club member got two. They too hit up everyone they encountered, sold a bunch, and pocketed the three dollars. The tickets were sold out to the delight of the teacher running the drama club.

Ronnie and she were making way too much cash, but she could not cut back on the take without pissing off her clientele.

It was like the cat falling into a vat of cream. It would only be a matter of time until one of her scams was nailed to the wall and her hide along with it. The only thing she and Ronnie could do was enjoy the ride until it was time to pay up.

For Vee, scamming was not only about the money. Money was just a way of keeping score.

It was the challenge the hooked Vee into this lifestyle. The authorities were watching her like a hawk and yet she was able to pull off scam after scam. It was like sneaking over to Ronnie's at midnight and making out...making love...with his mother awake in the next room reading some trashy romance novel. The intimacy was fun...the having to do it without letting the adults know just made it all that much more exciting.

The challenge was like Psychological Oxygen for the girl.

Everything seems so alive just after the pair pulled off a big one. The air was crisper. The making out was more passionate. The only thing she liked more than scamming was scamming with Ronnie. The only thing she like more that scamming with Ronnie was doing the boyfriend-girlfriend things with him. It was like she was born to be a villain and yet she had the dog like loyalty to her partner...something more akin to that of the hero.

Vee had heard of Team Possible and their numerous missions. Ronnie told her the stories that he knew. She had studied all the available video footage and was jealous of all the adventures Ronnie's parents had. She had studied the villains. With the exception of Shego, the others were wimps and idiots.

Shego, despite her poor fashion sense...the jumpsuit just was so pitiful and showed just how badly one could screw up Vee's two favorite colors...the color of money, black and green. Shego was just about the cruelest villain out there. Shego knew kung fu just like Vee although her moves were too wild...not disciplined and controlled like Vee's. Shego was so cynical. Shego had some pretty cruel blasting moves that she used on Drakken more often as she tried to blast Team Possible.

Vee had studied the life of the teen heroine turned villain's henchwoman and learned.

Violetta knew about Team Go...brothers like that would make any self respecting girl run away to preserve her sanity. Vee knew about Shego freelance days and her spectacular jewelry heists. The girl had studied the footage of her fights against Kim Possible and a part of Vee rooted for the raven-haired villainess even though she was one of the _bad gals_.

Shego was about wild aggression and doing whatever you wanted without having to be something you were not. It was Shego's over-active aggression that defeated her as much as Team Possible. Shego was so focused on hurting that she forgot the purpose was to win. It was a lesson that this girl understood and applied to her kung fu...brutal efficiency and an unblinking eye on the goal. Vee mastered the lesson and soon her sparing partners at the dojo reported that no matter how hard they tried, it was just like they were always missing her by a faction of an inch just before she wop them on their rears.

Shego's only fault was that she worked for the blue-skin freak.

Shego was the living embodiment of female freedom. When Global Justice finally managed to take her freedom away, she could not stand it and hanged herself in her cell. It was something that Violetta could understand. Violetta was a prisoner trapped in the cell of an addiction. Her need for medication restrained her. A part of the girl wanted to risk death for a moment's freedom from the addiction.

Vee hated Drakken. Drakken not only killed Ronnie's father, but he was involved with what happened to her mother and her. She had over the years got copies of Tita Lori's personal file on the _Monster In the Dark (MID)_ case. She had even gotten a peek of the interview videos of her mother.

Vee hated that video most of all.

Kids deserved to have a mother. Kids deserved to remember hearing their mothers saying _I love you_. Kids deserved to remember being held and loved by their mothers. The only words that Vee would hear her mother say were the words captured in those interviews. The only memories she would ever have of her mother was an old photo and the video footage of those tapes.

Vee promised Ronnie after his Uncle Jim's funeral that when they graduated high school, they would hunt down the men responsible for the death of their parents. Even if Ronnie and she broke up, she would still hunt the bastards down.

Vee had two names on her to dispatch very slowly list...Daddy and Drakken.

Tita Lori did her best to hunt down Violetta's father, but there was only so much that the law enforcement could do while hunting down fugitives. The police had to follow the law or the bad guy would get off on some technicality. Vee thoughts about the law and rules were the same. Follow the eleventh commandment and keep it holy.

_Thou can break any rule thou desire, just don't get caught. _

Vee was more than willing to go to the dark side. In the Star Wars universe, Vee was born a Sith. Ronnie was more like Anakin Skywalker. He would fall to the dark side because she seduced him over. Too bad the pair could not introduce Drakken to the business end of a light saber.

There was something about the sword that Vee loved.

Any idiot could pull a trigger.

Any idiot could hack away with the sword.

Guns were clumsy and random. Too imprecise to be an effective torture tool other than a prop for a game of Russian roulette.

However to cut into someone's flesh deliberately without killing them took skill.

Unlike 99.9-percent of the population, Vee had the skill and the talent to perform such a task.

When Sifu Long introduced her to the _dao_ five years ago, Vee discovered that just any weapon she could lift would became a living extension of her will with minimal practice. Bad news for Daddy and Drakken, it was her will that they truly understand the crimes they committed against a broken little girl and her daughter.

Vee googled _Death of a Thousand Cuts._ She studied it as intently as she would study her algebra. She intended to get high marks in both subjects.

* * *

Yori Yamaguichi was watching the girls of the eighth grade class of St. Francis Xavier Catholic school undergo a battery of physical fitness tests. 

Officially today was a staff development day and the conference was held in the morning, but Yori was already planning for the future. The day she arrived in Middleton High School as a Japanese language instructor and girl's track coach, the other girl's coach put in her retirement papers. Now Yori found herself running the girl's sport program at Middleton.

After the Possible Twins graduated, the Middleton Mad Dogs experienced a thirteen year slump. They went from division I to division IV. Now it was her task to bring back Middleton back to division I and eventually bring back the glory days.

Part of resurrecting the athletic program was to start preparing next years entering freshmen this year. She had spoken to Couch Yvette Monroe and the coach had arranged for her to get a sneak peak at what was coming in the pipeline next year. The she had to talk the eight grade coach into prepping the girls for sports.

Some of the girls were pathetic in an athletic sense...Correction...Most of the girls were pathetic. However there was one girl who caught her eye.

"Who is the Asian girl?"

The middle school coach shook her head.

"Violetta Lee...too bad I can't use her. Otherwise we would easily sweep County and be a serious contender in state. She is on the YMCA gymnastics, dive and swim team. She is also working on her assistant instructor qualification at Sifu Long's Chinese Martial Arts Center."

"Why? Is it family?"

"No it's meds. The YMCA league doesn't have a ban on her medications. The State athletic conference has the ban on her meds. Unfortunately there is no alternative medication and she has to take them."

However, Yori was only half listening. The way that the girl moved reminded her of an old memory.

_Yamanouchi._

She moved like a Yamanouchi ninja, quietly and yet with power. She was not moving at a full sprint, but even in her effort, the girl was instinctively conserving energy for an upcoming battle. Yori would make a note to visit Sifu Long's Chinese Martial Arts Center. Even though Yori was missing a hand, she still maintained her training. Besides, ninjistu seemingly had more in common with Chinese style martial arts rather than the karate that people associate with Japan.

* * *

"Kim, meet the boss at the conference room." 

"Thanks Joe."

Wondering what it was about, Kim stood up from the files overwhelming her desk and walked towards the conference room.

"Kim, Fred did his thirty and is retiring at the end of the year. He is going to be fishing six months out of the year and yelling at law students for the other six. You are going to be his replacement."

Kim gulped.

Frederick Calhoun had worked every death penalty case in Central Colorado for the past twenty one years from being another golfer to being the head prosecutor. He was responsible for five men being sent to death row. He also worked with the feds on those multi-jurisdictional cases. It also meant that she would get the MID-killer case. She would get them all save for her brother's murder case.

"This is Richard Yamaguchi. He just joined the US Attorney General's Office, but prior to that he was an FBI Special Agent and worked with Global Justice."

Kim saw a pleasant man sitting down in one of the leather chairs.

"Sorry, I'm not standing, but the legs hurt. That's why I now prosecute instead of running them down. Dr. Director sends her greetings."

Kim noticed two canes.

"How is she?"

"Distracted. For an old man, my wife's uncle could still charm the ladies. The last I heard they were taking a secluded vacation together."

Kim shuddered at that image.

_Old people sex...yuck_.

She knew her parents still were intimate, but...

"I know...the thought. It burns. Trust me, it's gets worst, I know exactly just how old uncle is. Let's say he is old enough to be Dr. Director's dad."

"Yuck. Too much even for an old gal like me. Now I got the image stuck in my mind. Curse you fed."

Kim found herself laughing as she grabbed a seat next to the former FBI agent.

"Miss Possible..."

"Please call me Kim."

"Kim, call me Rick...because of my physical condition, they spared me the golfer boy status. However, they made up for it by making me the liaison between our offices. I won't be prosecuting the federal capital cases...that my boss handles. However, I am the one who does all the reading for him."

Kim immediately knew that she just won the Super Bowl. The reader was the all important gateway and having the reader's ear was in many ways better than having the boss's ear.

"Out in California, the folks in San Francisco had all these evidence rules that only apply to state cases and not federal cases. The local police contacted us when they caught a local bad boy with Chinese Triad ties. The local federal prosecutor nailed the defendants on some federal charges, RICO, narcotics, and failure to have a 1934 tax stamp on an automatic weapon that turned out to be used in a Triad hit. Then the evidence is a matter of record and is useable in a state trial, whereas if the locals tried to prosecute on the state charges...the evidence would get tossed out by a bleeding heart Turn-them-loose-Bruce. It was appealed, but today, we just got the Supreme Court to okay the game plan. Should you get any cases with iffy processing, give me a call and we will see what we can do to make sure that the evidence included in a federal trial before you file state charges."

Kim Possible suppressed the urge to whistle. Federal laws pertaining to evidence were much looser than state law and the federal judges in Colorado were appointees from the Regan and Bush era who still worshiped the _Gipper_. It was like being given the legal green light to ignore most of the rules.

"Now what is the bad news?"

Richard smiled for a second.

Her boss replied, "With Fred going, I am giving you the MID case when we get the guy. You are the go to gal for all capital murder cases."

Kim did not want the case.

"Kim, I picked you because you don't want it. I picked you because you don't look at capital cases as your entry into a future political career. You are the best prosecutor I have and I know that you won't fumble the case. You will spend the next couple weeks with Fred and Richard getting caught up to speed on possible capital cases in the pipeline. Also, you will be the one guiding the investigators so that the evidence sticks. You got a promotion, a staff of twelve with four investigators, a PR adviser slash jury consultant, a generous budget, and your own office with a conference room. However, you are now on call twenty-four seven."

Kim suppressed a moan.

* * *

The Monster was in the back by the exit as he watched his child demonstrate the use of various kung fu weapon styles. Although the movements were not exactly the same as what was taught in the old school, they were surprisingly similar. His child executed each movement perfectly. Even now, she would be more than a match for many graduates of the Yamanouchi School. 

It was like fortune read his mind and prepared his child for her future.

She was beautiful and intelligent.

She portrayed innocence and yet was cunning.

She had a natural talent for deception.

He had observed her picking pockets.

He had observed her preparing hidden stashes.

He had observed her seduction of his rival's son.

He had observed her as she made money running various enterprises.

It was like she was born to be a _kunoichi_. Despite having no formal training, she instinctively had the knowledge and the attitude required.

He hated this waiting. However, it was not yet time to recruit her to his cause at this time. She needed a couple years to fully blossom. She had more than enough hatred to become a ruthless killer. However, she first had to lose at love. She had to be so broken that she was willing to kill the one she loved. He was strong, but not strong enough to kill the one he still loved. She had to kill the one who broke her heart. He would make her a goddess. He would be her prophet and mentor guiding her to the ways of power.

Something was not right. He instinctively made his way to the auditorium exit.

Looking across the way he spotted something that worried him greatly.

_Yori._

If she knew about his child...He did not want his father to take away his goddess.

The monster knew that it was time to kill the old man. He would kill the old man and weaken the bonds of love that prevented his transformation. Then he would claim Yori one more before perfecting her. Then he would devour her and break the weakness with him. Then...only then was he worthy to be the consort of the emergent goddess who had issued forth from his loins almost fourteen years ago.

_"How could I be so blind?"_ he cursed.

Fate had more for him than to just be the father of a goddess. The god and goddess were to bring forth a new dynasty. She would be his wife. Only then will her offspring be gods. Not the kind and gentle gods of the _gaijin_, they will be cruel gods that will walk on this earth and take sacrifices when and where they pleased.

* * *

The Controller's eyes were fixed on a budget report for the next quarter. 

Despite all his efforts, costs were spiking up.

It was expected. With the increase in international terrorism, Global Justice had to dispatch more agents, pay off more informants, and conduct more operations.

Things were playing out as he planned.

Tomorrow a mall in California will be visited by two suicide bombers. One will bring in the cops. The other will ensure that the first responders will be killed.

Next month, a modified tanker truck loaded with homemade explosives and ball bearings will try to assault the White House. Too bad it was a Democrat in the White House. The nation would need a Teddy Roosevelt type, but they would get someone more crooked than Johnson and Nixon and without any of the redeeming qualities. They were too soft. However with the death of the President, the DNC did not really have anyone in the pipeline for the next election other than the beleaguered Vice President who was dodging a scandal. The Vice President was morally and ethically weak. It was rumored that he would resign when he came back from his international tour.

The Republicans took over Congress last election, gaining back control for the first time since the Iraqi War. They hated the Vice President and when he became President...

The Controller expected that after the honeymoon period, the government would be paralyzed.

There will be a squeeze in narcotics flow. The dealers will start fighting another war in America's inner cities.

There would be more attacks on key congressmen and senators on both sides of the aisle. He would cull out the strong and dynamic leadership leaving the weak to run the nation.

His contacts among the Neo Nazi's would ensure that they would act up and stir the pot.

The Project had minions among the media who would put the proper spin on the news.

Everyone will be too busy and too frighten to notice his next play.

This summer would be quite interesting indeed.

It was time for Dr. Director to have a small stoke. Not too bad, but enough that she would have to turn over Global Justice to him and retired. In a few more months, she would have a couple small strokes and then a final, massive stroke. He would weep at her funeral and already had his eulogy ready.

Then the games will begin.


	41. White Knight to Queen Bishop Three

**Moving On **

**White Knight to King Bishop Three **

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

Tim Possible hated himself more and more with every day.

He looked at the candle flame wondering just how long he could resist the siren's call.

He was violently trembling as if he awoken from a terrible nightmare despite being in his wife's embrace.

_Why did Marie have to be in love with a fuck up like me?_

He rolled over carefully.

Marie was pregnant with his child. He looked down at the bump and wondered what he was going to do.

His contract with the local mining company would soon be over. There were only so many documents to be translated and soon the American technical consultants would leave this place and fly back to the states. The Russians would not need someone who could explain American technical jargon and slang to the Russian miners and the mechanics who would service the new machines.

A part of him wondered what was happening back home. Did Wade and Jim find what they sought in the ledger? He missed his parents, sibling, and nephew. Despite punching away at the keyboard of a computer, he was afraid to access the web. He had promise Marie that he would be there for her and their child. He did not want to fuel his misery, his homesickness by trying to find out what was going on back in the states.

_Timothy James Possible is dead. I am Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev. This is my home. This is where I will raise my family._

Timofey deliberately picked up the pace on the keyboard at the office. Ten hours a day ensured that he was starting to learn how to touch type. He had to so the Americans would leave. He had to so the temptation to make contact with his old life would leave. It would make his life simpler. Once they were gone, he would no long have the computer. Once they were gone, he would not be tempted anymore to access the web and read about a life he left behind.

Two more months and he would hold his child. His child...something that he thought that he would never have would need him to support a family.

Tim cuddled with his wife as the withdrawal symptoms continued. He had to be strong. He had to rid himself of the demonic possession that his morphine addiction became.

Marie would hold on to him, comfort him as the chills and fevers would take him. She and the child she carried needed him to be strong. This land had no place for the weak. He had to be strong for when the Americans left, he would have to find other work. No one would hire an addict.

He kissed his wife and prayed for this hell to soon be over.

_"I'm sorry," the old man said, "Your wife was weak in heart. She did not make it, nor did the child." _

_The old man was wearing a blood splattered apron. _

_"I notified Father Lebedev so arrangements can be made." _

_Tim could only look on as the old man wrapped up his wife in a bloody bed sheet and tied it close. The room was thick with the coppery taste of blood. It was a smell that Tim knew too well. Fresh death. _

_However this death was not the death of an enemy. It was the death of someone he loved. He remembered walking to his cabin and putting the muzzle of his rifle to his mouth. It was loaded, but it would not fire. He walked into the forest and accosted the bear, but the bear would not end his life. He walked further south until his accosted the tiger, but the tiger would not end his life. He walked up to the far north where the sun did not show for six months and removed his garments, but the cold would not claim him. _

_A thousand ways he sought death, each more elaborate than the last, but death was denied him. He would walk the earth for a thousand, thousand years until he was the last of the homo sapiens, but death would be denied him. _

Timofey woke up to see his wife's sleeping face. The pregnancy was sapping her energy. He held unto her praying these nightmares would remain just that...nightmares...the product of morphine withdrawal.

Marie was weak in the heart. No matter how many times she reassured him that things would work out, the knowledge fueled his nightmares. Tim had found his angel...he did not want to lose her.

* * *

Halfway around the world, Ronnie Possible and his girlfriend, Violetta Lee, were lying on the roof and watching the stars sparkling above them. Winter had passed and the snow melted. The air was still cold, but spring was slowly waking up like a drunk in the early morning in fits and sputters.

The pair had to plan their next great blow to adult domination.

Ronnie would be fourteen in June, but Vee had to wait for December to roll around. Four years and nine months before she would be free from the clutches of the State of Colorado and able to move into an apartment where the two of them could be as naughty as far as the law allowed two consenting adults to be naughty.

So far, the two lucked out. None of their scams this year got them in trouble.

As Vee expected, someone else trying to earn their title tried to pull off some amateurish pranks and got caught. Now the brothers running St. Francis Xavier were watching the new prankster, leaving the veteran pranksters have some breathing room. The only thing that the brothers were now busy doing was trying to prevent were public displays of affection between the two. After six years, it was like...being an elite Imperial storm trooper without any Rebel Scum to hunt and gun down.

The primitive part of Vee wanted to lash out...to be grandiose and pull the ultimate prank. However, there was a satisfaction in pulling pranks so good that not even the paranoid Brother Daniel Martinez figure out there was a prank going on.

Their problem was that to go to the next level would involve going to the criminal. Vee had no problems with the concept of breaking the law. To her challenging the law was the next step.

Ronnie and she had picked pockets and shoplifted before. Vee had an illegal set of lock picks and had the pair had practice their breaking and entering skills on a couple businessmen with less than upright ethics. However, everything they did was below the radar.

However, the problem was the penalty. The authorities would at the very least send Vee to some group home far away from her boyfriend and partner in crime. Ronnie would end up in jail or at least with a criminal record. Vee did not want to get Ronnie into that kind of trouble. She did not want to give up her recommended daily allowance of freckles, soft brown eyes, big ears, and red hair. No prank was worth the splitting up of the Evil Siamese Twins.

So the pair were trapped in a criminal limbo. Too bad to be good and too...young to truly be bad, yet.

Violetta now dreamt of being a professional thief like Catherine Zeta Jones character in _Entrapment_. She did not want to waste her time or risk her freedom on the small stuff. She wanted instead to be going after the crown jewels. However instead of dealing with an old man like Sean Connery as her _chaste_ love interest, Vee enjoyed passionate love with Ronnie.

Violetta wondered what their adult lives would be like.

Pulling off heists and doing the horizontal tango on pallets of money seemed like a splendid way to live. Being above all the petty restrictions that bind others.

However, those plans were for a very distant future.

A smile appeared on her face. Ronnie recognized the smile.

The pair slid of the roof and made their way back into Ronnie's room.

Vee had another scam, one that would blow the minds of the adults if they ever found out about it.

Ronnie had the computer skills. Vee had the cunning. She was well known to the other agents in the local Colorado Bureau of Investigation field office and thus her presence would not alert the agents to her next great plan. Violetta had a habit of dropping in to see her Tita Lori on a weekly basis. She could drop in Ronnie's hackware into their system.

_Why let the druggie's have their money to pay a $5,000 per hour hotshot attorney? The law did not allow the cops to shut off the money to the high price attorneys. Let the pushers have the same attorneys that some junkie prostitute is stuck with because the pusher hooked some lonely girl and stuck her with a habit to enrich their bottom line. _

Vee hated drug dealers almost as much as she hated pedophiles. She would find out who was getting raided. Ronnie would digitally loot their bank accounts and send the cash bouncing around overseas. The drug pusher would get to use the public defender so they still had representation. However, public defenders would not be good enough to get them light sentences that the legal hotshots managed to negotiate. The pushers are off the street for a much longer time. The pair would collect a fee for rending a public service and the rest of the cash would go to charity from an anonymous donor. It was something that hopefully Tita Berta would understand if things fell apart.

Violetta Lee could not wait for someone to do something about this messed up world. Her mother was dead and the sons-a-bitches that messed up her mother's life lived fourteen years too long.

Team Possible was about being super-heroes and living in the lime light with theme songs and websites. The Evil Siamese Twins would be as invisible as Team Possible was visible.

Tomorrow, Violetta was going to study money laundering. Operations such as Vee was contemplating would require a great deal of cash. Somehow it felt like a part of her did this before.

The Evil Siamese Twins would soon go pro. School pranks were just so...immature. It was time to step up to the big leagues. The bad guys were the perfect target. They could not complain to the law about their money being taken. There was no way the 'rents would know. There was no way that Tita 'Berta, Tita Lori, and Tita Kim would be disappointed that Vee was exacting a little bit of justice. The bad guys would not be able to buy their way out of justice.

Now it was time to celebrate almost nine years of being together.

Violetta smiled as she heard Kim Possible snored next door. The extra 198-proof alcohol she added to the wine sauce did her in. Vee and Ronnie carefully carried his mom up the stairs to her room. Since Ronnie did not want to be mentally scarred for life, it was up to Vee to change her and get her cleaned up.

Violetta had swiped a book from the forbidden second of the library and removed the security tag. It was an illustrated manual call the Joy of Sex and it was now time to spice things up a notch.

But first, she would shave Ronnie's peach fuzz off his upper lip. She was not going to let him look ridiculous like the other boys cultivating like rat hairs.

* * *

The Coordinator silently thanked Shego for setting up his money laundering network as he wired some more money into a network of offshore bank accounts. From the second the money hit a network of bankers on the other end laundered it (for a cut) and passed it on via a complex network of couriers and wire transfers.

In the end the sum of $15 million Euros appeared in a certain numbered account with a message.

The recipient opened up the message and using a Minox camera took several snapshots of the screen. A real photograph did not have a tracking bug. The email box was closed and using a utility the computer was scrubbed of any digital trace of the message from the memory of the computer.

In three more months the lease on this apartment would be over. The land lord would find an empty apartment save for the notebook PC which would be kept or sold off.

The killer merely smiled.

This was a hit would ensure that the killer would be able to retire. This was a hit that would ensure that the _Kitsune_ would be forever immortalized if the authorities could ever figure out that a hit occurred in the first place.

The quarry's name was Dr. Betty Director, Head of Global Justice. It had to look like a natural death...Nothing that would scream murder on toxicology tests.

The killer had a simple technique dubbed the stroke express. One chemically induced stroke to land the victim in the hospital. A couple more to keep her there for a while. And one final one to knock the victim off. Since the victim was in a hospital under a physician's care, there would be no autopsy. There would be no reason to doubt that the victim had expired due to stroke.

The killer called the chemist. The medication would be ready. It was up to him to ensure that she drank it.

It was not the first high value liability that the assassin zeroed. Despite having more than enough money to retire in luxury it would not be the last. Retirement was for old folks who remember the jitterbug or the twist. It was for the baby boomers and those that remembered disco the first time around. He was far too young to go into obscurity. The assassin was not yet middle aged. He had greater enemies to subdue...empires to topple.

Besides, this client was not as good in the sinister arts as he thought he was. Killing the boss...the assassin would now forever have control over one of the biggest thorns in the side of men such as he.

Global Justice would soon be the assassin's vassal.

What a fitting legacy to leave to his daughter...control over the world's elite law enforcement organization.

Global Justice eventually would give him the tool he sought.

The late Doctor Cyrus Bortel's notes and diagrams would be his. Explosive ticks to the Moodulator to the complete mind wiping process...he would have all the tools he needed to enact his fantasies.

Also he would have the secret files on Susan Lee. There had to be other such as her...others with her talent for receiving pain.

His child was too precious to sate all his lusts. However, there had to be cousins who would serve as his spirit liberators. Others that would allow him to bred an army.

He would have done the job for free, but he was not one to turn down $15 million Euros.

* * *

At ten in the evening, Master Sensei mediated in the gardens as Yori watched patiently.

Yori knew at such times he was tapping into the wisdom of Yamanouchi clan.

"There is a rent in the weaving of destiny...the one we must find is near. We must find her soon before we lose her forever. Yori, I must follow the _meimyaku_ (threads of life) no matter where they lead."

The ninjas of Yamanouchi had long studied the mystical arts. To an outsider, the ways seemed like peasant superstitions. To Yori, they were as real as the laws of gravity were to physicists. Only the most powerful could read the weavings of fate. Of those, only a few was powerful to reset the pattern.

Yori had long mastered _kuji-in_, the magic of the ninja. From her childhood, the concepts were as much a part of her as her lungs. She knew the 81 hand signs. She knew five base principles...Ku (the source of all power) and the four elemental manifestations. Chi (earth-solid)...Sui (water-liquid)...Ka (fire-combustion)...and Fu (air-gas)...they were all part of the other world that she would spend a lifetime mastering. However she knew of another manifestation...for a lack of a better term...the void where all things exist and don't exist...where probability and actuality collide.

This was the study of a lifetime that no human ever truly mastered. However, Master Sensei had to spirit walk through the void...through the emptiness where the way had no meaning. He would need her strength to anchor him to this plane lest he be carried off.

Yori grabbed three candles. Two of these she lit and placed on the ground. The third candle was put so that it formed a downward pointing triangle to represent the cosmic feminine from with all souls and spirits are born.

Master and student closed their eyes and silently formed the cosmic seals with their hands.

Their consciousness left the world of form and moved into the void.

_The void was a place where only the few could venture. _

_There were those that watched and those the manipulated the meimyaku. To stand here was to face your past and the past of your ancestors. For Yori, this was the most difficult part. The Suzuki line was a line of _konoichi_ who used seduction as their primary tool to get close enough to kill or spy upon their targets. A good percentage of her ancestors were the monsters the konoichi battled against. In doing their mission, they had incorporated the blood of monsters into her bloodline. Instead of protecting her, like ancestral spirits were wont to do for loyal descendants, these ancestral spirits wanted to punish the offspring of their betrayers and murderers. Yori had to focus on the task ahead and fight the spirits of those who her knonichi ancestors betrayed. _

_The weaving of the fabric was a snarl. The threads were rotting...disintegrating and new patterns...patterns woven by chaos were forming and tearing apart as fate and design fought for supremacy. These were not just woven but pasted together. In front of Master Sensei and her spirit was the spirit of one they had once long believed dead. _

_One did not have to talk here. Words were not uttered or said in the void lest something terrible be given life. One just had to think...to will the concept to be sent over. _

_"The one you seek is mine." _

_The demon was familiar. _

_"Father, you have weakened us. You have made the Yamanouchi vassals to a weak state instead of leading us to shape the world as our ancestors once shaped Japan. You have taught an _jingai _our ancient arts. Fourteen years ago, I have left you as a student...a subservient thing that groveled in the mud slaving for your vision of the future. I have suffered torture in a futile attempt to pervert the natural order. The strong will consume the weak, father as I will consume you. No more will the visions of a feeble old man bind me. No more will you and your little slut of a successor rule over our bloodline. We fight here and now. You win...you may have my son. You lose...I will kill you hear and now. Your blood will do rather nicely." _

_A short iron shod staff appeared in the demon's hands. _

_Master Sensei did not summon any weapons. _

_"I refuse your deceptions my son. Kill me here, it does not matter...you have long ago sealed your fate when you chose to serve evil Yamanouchi Hirotaka. Your daughter shall claim your life as surely as much as you wish to claim my life." _

_Yori could sense the nostrils of the demon flaring as Master Sensei saw through the lie. _

_"So be it senile old man. By killing those she loved she will free herself of the bonds that shackle us all from greatness. I came into this world owing the gods a death. I have died once before and traveled to the halls of the gods of hell. Dying holds no mystery for me. However, my death will only make my child an immortal goddess instead of the weaklings your training created." _

_"You are truly lost. However, my powers will never be yours. You have cast yourself out of the Yamanouchi Clan my son. I shall die. You shall die. You daughter will one day die as all who are born will die. You underestimate your own blood, Hirotaka...that will be the death of you and your ways. I will be sorry that I won't be around to see my granddaughter seek her justice." _

_"My daughter is already following the path to my destiny father. She is already a thief and a harlot just like her mother was. She will be mine to mold as I see fit." _

_"No, Hirotaka. Your daughter is my revenge. You have broken my heart. Likewise, she shall crush yours. Teenagers are always that way." _

_Master Sensei actually smiled as he taunted his only son. _

_Hirotaka swung his staff, but Master Sensei took a small step and pivoted. The staff missed the old man by millimeters. _

_A thread shifted in the weaving of time. _

_"You are so caught up in your hate that you even here cannot see your dream unraveling before you. Your hate blinds you. Your hate has made you sloppy. Your dreams will not hold together. They are just the delusions of a madman" _

_Hirotaka swung again and missed. His breathing was ragged and exertion was etched over his face. _

_Another thread shifted. _

_Yori knew that Master Sensei was buying her time to find the Jade Demon. _

_Her awareness flew along the thread however it was tangled in a network of threads. The mother thread exerted significant influence despite the mother now being in the next world. The father thread was trying to rip the thread away from the network of other treads. The threads came together and separated but there was a second thread welded to the first. _

_Yori knew that Master Sensei was right. The child was close. _

_She merged her awareness with the thread. _

_Yori found herself in a room cuddling with a boy. The kiss was familiar. The ways the ears felt was too familiar. The soft brown eyes. If it was not for the hair, it looked like the boy of her childhood dreams. _

Stoppable-san.

_It could not be...Stoppable-san was dead. She had watched the funeral on television. _

_"Vee, what's wrong." the boy asked. _

Damn, what am I going to do?

The girl is obviously..._looking down at the boy's naked body..._experienced.

How am I going to explain to Master Sensei that his granddaughter has already seen action?

_Yori watched as the girl traced her finger around the boy's nipple before attacking it with her mouth. The girl was obviously an imp...no, she was a succubae. _

The boy was so much like Ron.

_She won't mind watching and yet Yori was upset that some girl was getting some updated Ronshine and she did not get any of the original. _

Bad thought, Yori...you are on a mission, not some sick voyeur.

_Yori reluctantly release her grip on the girl's mind and watched. _

I just need to see her face in the mirror so I can identify her. There is no way I am hoping inside dirty boy's mind.

_The two were obviously passionate. They were going to be doing this for a long time...time that Yori did not have. _

_Instead her awareness moved throughout the house. _

_She spotted another woman unconscious in the other room. The woman was obviously passed out from too much...celebration. _

_Yori stared at the face. It was scarred and the eyes were closed, but it was familiar. _

Kim Possible.

_Kim was not one of Yori's favorite persons. A part of her was tempted to take over Kim's body and have Kim see her son in action. However, her powers were limited to suggestion. _

_However Yori remember that two threads were wielded together. All she had to find was Kim Possible and she could find the child. _

_Yori returned to the room just in time for the conclusion of whatever the pair was doing. She entered the girl and slowly put her into a sleepy state where all she wanted to do was cuddle and sleep. Hopefully Kim Possible would wake up in time to deal with the overactive kids. Yori exited the tread and traveled back to Master Sensei. _

_Hirotaka was violently aggressive, while Master Sensei merely dodges his son's attacks and chided him for his sloppy form. _

_Master Sensei bowed and walked away from an exhausted Hirotaka. Doing anything in this place took a great deal of spiritual energy. Yori heard Hirotaka's curses as Master Sensei walked away. _

Both master and student awoke in the glad. The third candle was lit.

"Did you find my granddaughter?"

Yori feel a full-on body blush.

"Yes, Master Sensei. Your granddaughter is for the lack of a better term...precocious."

"Then I trust you will find her soon. Both her and her boyfriend."

Yori could not believe it. Master Sensei was spying on her.

"What?"

"Fate had been kind to us...Uniting our child with the next bearer of the Lotus Blade although I personally wish they waited for a decade before they try to make me a great-grandfather. The fibers moved as we battled. It was their love that moved the pattern. We have bought ourselves some time. Hirotaka is trying to move the world to an unnatural path. Fate had moved the knight to protect a pawn as it moves to become a queen."

Yori's head was spinning.

_Master Sensei was actually happy that his...I give up_.

"When I fought Hirotaka, I noticed that he was weight down by something...controlled by something not of himself. There is another player in the game. It is that player that own ward must defeat. Otherwise, Hirotaka will win. We will see a nexus gather and until this snarl is settled one way or another, the weavings of fate will be indeed terrible. Find my granddaughter. Teach her what I taught you. Hirotaka will be looking for me so I must soon return to Japan and hold his attention there. Return to the void like I showed you. There you will meet the shades of masters departed and learn things that I don't have the time to teach you. _Ja mata, sayonara_."

Being stuck in the mind of an aroused thirteen year old was no picnic, especially when afterwards you remember that your husband was stuck flying back from a conference in Washington DC on the redeye flight. She prayed that Richard would get home soon so that he could work off her puckish attitude with something naughty. Jet lag would not be an acceptable excuse.

* * *

Timofey Ivanovich Possibeev was walking with the head American technical consultant as the last of the Caterpillar E-series backhoe loaders was being taken out of the crates.

The American was at first shocked that Timofey spoke English like an American rather than like a Brit like most Europeans. However Tim lied about his past. He hinted that the FSB, the successor to the KGB, had trained him to sound like someone from the Canadian/North American border during his time in the army. The old man had given him a Russian army tattoo with his blood type, a wolf's head, and the words _Chechens would pay $300 dead or alive for my dog tags, I should have taken them up on their offer._

Tim had two more weeks on the contract and did not expect a contract renewal.

"Timofey..."

"Call me Tim, boss."

"What are you going to do? We are leaving next week."

Tim just shook his head.

"Go back to woods...get bearskin rug and make more rug rats. Piss off your animal rights activists."

The American contractor laughed, "We could use someone like you in our sales force."

Tim shook his head, "I got a baby on the way. Thank you, but I am not one to sell."

Tim had just kissed a lifetime in the opportunity goodbye, but he could not afford to have his cover blown. Tim now had to figure out how to feed his family.

He knew that he could not remain here. He could not begin to even count the mistakes he made. His English was too good to be a man of the woods. If anyone was looking for him or Marie, they would not have to look hard to find him. After his child was old enough to travel, they would have to move on. It was the way things were. It was the way things would be. His wife and his child were the heirs to a fortune that many would kill to acquire. It was up to him to protect them both.

There was no way the Posibeev's were going to be your typical Russian family.

* * *

Dr. Betty Director was overwhelmed.

Three suicide bombers, the kidnapping of a diplomatic delegation to the Middle East, a string of highway sniping in the Washington DC area, and a dirty bomb explosion in Bonn, Germany...it was like the bad guys were going out of their way to stretch her resources.

She was religiously attacking the coffee pot trying to ingest enough caffeine to function. Will Du had handed her an intelligence summary and a DVD.

"Here is surveillance footage of the bombing in Atlanta from the security cameras at the stadium. The bombers set off a small bomb to bring in the first responders. Then the second bomber, dressed in EMT gear came in and detonated a bomb in an EMT bag...Straight out of the Bali Bombing manual.

"We are going to deploy our first responders in teams. Everyone will know everyone else's face so no one can infiltrate. We are also having our agents doing a meet and greet with the local law enforcement community. It's going to burn up staff and we will have to pay for housing, but I am going to have two agents assigned to every congressional district to act as liaisons. They will be know to the locals and will coordinate logistics and housing for our rapid response teams."

"What about finances?"

Will shook his head.

"We are getting a short term boost, but if we don't have some victories...we will run out of funds within eight months unless donors anted up. I am already scheduling two extra fund raisers. Don't expect to get off the cocktail circuit anytime soon."

Dr. Director suppressed a moan. Criminals were old hat. It was the fact that she had to spend most of her time raising money to keep Global Justice operating.

Without Du, Global Justice would have fallen apart a decade ago logistically and gone bankrupt. He had managed to find donors to keep Global Justice running.

Will Du left to process the paperwork with the forward deployment of GJ agents.

Dr. Director sipped on her coffee as she nursed her headache. Everything was pressing in.

Dr. Director stood up and made her way towards her bathroom when she fell.

_Just right on schedule_.


	42. New Godfather

**Moving On **

**The New Godfather **

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

"Igor Michalovich, I believe we have a deal."

With those eight words, Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev returned to his own life of crime.

Igor Michalovich Sochava was scum. Igor Michalovich Sochava gave scum a bad name. Igor Michalovich could give Jabba the Hut lessons in villainy.

Igor was a bad guy from the closing days of the Cold War.

A rat faced snitch...The KGB sent the pig out here to guard dissidents. When the old regime collapsed, his unit was rolled into the police. He was so odious that even the exiles in Siberia were reluctant to deal with him. He was a snitch...a rat who would pimp out his own mother if it got him another bottle of vodka. Somehow despite his record, he joined the local police when the old regime fell and was now the local police commander.

When Igor was not extorting bribes from the locals, he was involved in every possible racket. Furs, caviar, cigarettes, bootleg vodka, bear organs, drug smuggling...he had his dirty fingers in every pot. Nothing moved in this region without Igor Michalovich having an interest in it.

Today, Igor Michalovich needed someone of the woods to pick up a 35-kilogram package at hike it twenty five kilometers through the wilderness to a drop off point. He was willing to pay in gold coin.

Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev needed money and had a reputation as a tough man. Anyone who could survive a bear's swipe had to be tough.

Everyone knew that Posibeev was a Cossack.

Cossacks were not a kind, gentle people.

For centuries they pillaged the Ottoman Empire, Russians, and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth playing each against the other. Many of them were descendants of Russian and Ukrainian peasants who escaped serfdom and fought to be free. They later agreed to serve the Czar, trading military service for privileges and land. They were the first professional solders of Russia. They were the one that decimated the French as they harried Napoleon's troops out of Russia.

Cossacks fought on both sides of the Russian Civil War. The Soviets were not kind sending many to the gulag, but once the Soviet Union fell, the Russians turn to the Cossacks when seeking contract (professional) soldiers instead of the weak _srochniki _(conscripts) that populated both the Soviet and Russian militaries. Cossacks in the former Soviet republics have lived up to their reputation as hard fighters...Especially a _spetnaz_ (special operations) _starshina_ (first sergeant) who served with the 10th Mountain ObrSpN in Chechnya.

No sane Russian messed with a Cossack unless he was tire of living and that was the reputation that Tim Possible depended on to make a living in this unforgiving land.

Tim knew that it was drugs. Igor knew it was drugs. Even his unborn baby in Marie's womb could figure out that it was drugs.

However, everyone will pretend that it was simply a package that would be transported unopened...a line that would hold until it was time for someone to take a long drop with a short rope attached to one's neck or was forced to pose for rifle fire. Tim smiled at the thought even though it would be his neck that hopefully would be snapped in the fall. Slowly asphyxiating was not the worst way to die, but it was not a quick death either.

There was a market in China for drugs. Contrary to what the Chinese government boasted...drug addiction was an epidemic in China. The Russians were more than willing to feed the habit as long as they were being paid in hard currency. Tim was being paid 20,000 rubles in gold coin to move the package through an area commanded by one of those hard-liners (translation, Igor did not want to split his take with his superiors). There was a police roadblock at the crossroads. Igor did not want to risk moving it in his police car through the checkpoint, so he had to recruit someone to hike it cross country to a drop off point.

This was the equivalent of over 500-Euros for a two day walk in a land where drug dealing can get you the death penalty. Tim Possible did not need an actuary to calculate the value of his life...One genius turned criminal...20,000 rubles.

This was a godsend in a land were those who live in the country were lucky to make a 100-Euros a month.

Tim had negotiated a high price based upon his cover story. He collected half his coins and walked home. Back in the states he was worth over a million dollars. Here he was an errand boy for a rat.

Tonight, he planed to liberate an AKSU-74 from the local police armory. As long as he did not hurt anyone, they would not miss it much. There was a surplus of Soviet weapons. The 5.45x39mm round was not good for the woods, but Tim did not expect to use it on the local animal population. If he needed a gun, it was for two legged prey.

If things went wrong, he would not go to hell alone. However that thought would give him scant comfort. If he was killed, his wife and child would be alone in this God forsaken land.

* * *

Betty Director woke up with a tube sticking down her throat. 

The nurse removed the ventilator tube and summoned the doctor.

"Betty, it's Dr. Reinhold. You have been admitted because you fell pretty badly. We have you scheduled for hip replacement surgery tomorrow. However that is the least of your problems."

Betty looked up at the doctor in a mixture of shock and confusion.

_Hip replacements are for old women. I am only in my fifties._

"You had a stroke. If your assistant did not summon the paramedics, you would have died or worse ended up in a vegetative state and hooked up to machines for the next couple decades. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you don't want to be drooling in the corner...You have to rest. No more work...nothing strenuous."

"How long have I been..."

"Almost two weeks. You have had three procedures to remove the blockage in your head. It has worked for now, but it's only temporary. We had to wait for the blood thinners to finish before we risk elective surgical procedures. After tomorrow, you will spend another week here and then spend another month in bed. After that the inquisitors in physical therapy will teach you how to move around with a walker. You will have to make dramatic lifestyle changes and take medications for the rest of your life. Normally I would sugarcoat things, but having been your doc for the past twelve years...I believe that you deserve the truth no matter how much it might hurt. I know you want to return to your office, but it's not in the cards.

"Betty, I have to speak to the surgeon who will replace your hip tomorrow. I need you to rest as much as you can now, because after tomorrow...it will be painful."

Dr. Director wanted to protest, but her head felt mushy. The more she concentrated, the more the words slipped away.

_Am I becoming a vegetable? Please, I don't want to live if I can't...I don't want to go out with a whimper. Please God, if I have another stroke...make it kill me. I don't want to be useless._

Dr. Director had faced down death before. She had faced challenges and triumphed. However, she did not want to live in a failing body. Part of her wanted to order someone to get her Berretta 96DS so she could end it all. She was useless and if she was useless she did not want to live anymore.

Dr. Director cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Tim loaded a magazine and racked a round into the chamber of his recently _liberated_ AKSU74. 

"Timofey Ivanovich, there is no need for that."

Tim just stared at the rear view mirror.

"Igor Michalovich, when I was a private in training, an old _praporshchik_ (master non-commissioned officer) who served in Afghanistan taught me this truth...Just because your paranoid don't mean your enemies are not out to kill you. Some of my old comrades did not listen to their _praporshchik_ and had to learn this lesson the hard way...They paid for it with their lives. Often we bump into Chechens in the mountains. There is no time to even change the fire selector, let alone chamber a round...just kill or be killed. Our fingers became our safety."

" Chechnya's sounds like a hard place."

"_Da_, Igor Michalovich. Chechen men are worse than demons. Chechen women are worse than Chechen men. I tangled with bears. I tangled with Chechens. I survived being mauled by both. I pick bears any day over Chechens. Bears might kill you and eat you...it's nothing personal, just survival. Chechens, I pray they all... _Eede vhad e sgadie kak malinkey suka_ (go to hell and burn like a little bitch)."

Tim eyes bored in on the reflection in the mirror.

"I have seen bodies of those they captured. My comrades and I had a pact to kill each other before letting them take us alive. Stalin should have recruited those _svolotch_ (swine) to be his torturers...they would have gladly done it for free."

The rest of the ride was silent.

Tim adjusted the sling so that the compact assault rifle was in position.

"You can get there...no problem."

Conscripts were never taught how to read maps in the Soviet or Russian army. Maps were limited to the officers and senior NCOs'. The conscripts would be driven before them and the officers and senior NCOs' would direct the battle and shoot any deserters. It was a simple system, you fight the enemy and you may die. You retreat and your superiors will kill you. All you can do if fight the enemy and hope they don't kill you. Machineguns were not used to kill the enemy, but to prevent deserters from running away. The methodology remained unchanged no matter what the regime.

"I was _starshina _(first sergeant). As long as I have my compass, my map, and my little pal, only death herself can stop me. I will see you in three days. Drop me off here."

Igor looked up in puzzlement, "It's five more kilometers on the road and then you have to hike two more into the woods."

"I want to make sure there is no reception committee present when I pick up your package. If it was not a short notice job, I would have the site watched two days ago to make sure there is no ambushers at the pick up site. A short nature walk is not going to kill me."

If Igor Michalovich ever walked more than a kilometer or two since the end of the cold war, Tim would have been surprised. The crooked cop filled out his uniform with flesh to spare.

"Good luck."

"I have learned that there is no such thing as good luck. All luck is bad luck...some in your favor...mostly in the favor of your enemy. There is only paranoia, preparation, and the readiness to act at the moment of truth. The Devil takes the weak. I don't expect God to get me out of trouble anymore. He had already done enough of that for me."

Igor Michalovich visibly shivered at Timofey's words. Tim hoped that his persona will prevent Igor from betraying him...at least until it was time to.

Igor Michalovich was the type of scum who grew on you. He was funny and fun to be with when you have the hankering for bootleg vodka sharing a pack of lies. However Tim knew better than to trust the fat swine. He would hate to have to pull the trigger on the bastard. However, in this case friendship meant that death would be relatively painless unless the other really tried to cross the line in their traitorous comradeship of banditry.

* * *

Robert Rockwaller was stuck in his interdisciplinary humanities class listening to a boring lecture about _Kukulcan_ (Mayan feather serpent god), _Chac_ (Mayan rain god), climatology, and the relationship between Mayan mythologies to Mayan architecture, when his cell phone buzzed. He hit the cancel button and slipped out of the room to the stare of hatred from his professor. 

"Robert speaking."

"Your mom...she needs you now."

It was his auntie, Dr. Tara Strong. Robert had expected this phone call...he had expected really terrible things every time the telephone rang. Twice his mother was hospitalized and twice she recovered enough to return home.

The worst part was that she was in so much pain that he started praying that she would die so she would not have to live with the pain anymore. It ashamed him that he had long since lost hope.

_The morphine does not help anymore._

Knowing that his mother was going to die was not torture enough according to fate. Now he was going to watch her die in pain. Robert walked to his car and drove home to attend another wake for the living dead.

An hour later, he pulled up to place he had called for the past fifteen years. At the door were four suitcases and two carry on. His mom was sitting on the step by the door.

"It's time that I make things right. We are returning back to Middleton."

* * *

Humping eighty pounds of illegal drugs does things to a man...Especially to a man with everything to lose in a land where due process meant that they would use real bullets at your execution if you were caught. 

If there was any betrayal, it would be near the destination. No one wanted to hump the load any further than necessary. Also they were gambling that he would be too tired to put up a fight.

Exactly 64 paces to a hundred meters mean that to travel 25 kilometer would take 16,000 paces. However, straight lines only exist on maps and Euclidean geometry. On the ground, he expected to travel twice that far at the very least.

Tim estimated that he moved approximately 30 kilometers and estimated that he would have to move another 30 before this job was finished although his destination was only ten kilometers away. Theoretically he could hike the final ten kilometers in under four hours. However if he went in a straight line he would have to climb some hills. Instead he paralleled the river traveling just below the ridgelines.

Having an engineering degree meant that Tim knew how to use a compass and a map. Although not as accurate as a GPS unit, Tim knew how to read a compass and use the pace count to figure out where he was on the map. Every hundred meters he would slide a small red plastic tab over what looked like a line of Rosary beads. The US Army call their vision of Tim's pace counter Ranger Beads and they served the same purpose. Every tenth bed was brown instead of green and every five brown bead was yellow. Hanging on the end of the string was a card converting his foot steps into meters.

87 degrees – 3 degrees north of east...Sighting down the compass there was a tree in the distance that would serve as a landmark. He would have to go five kilometers on this heading before hooking back south.

Tim put his map and compass away in their waterproof pouches. He grunted as he put the pack back on. His weapon was in place. He would keep on marching. Any ambushers would not expect him to move during the nights. He planned on being their tomorrow. If any one expected to get the drop on him...too bad. They might be good. They might be the best money can buy. However, Tim had a wife and unborn child who needed him. Because of them, the bad guys would have to kill him first, because he would give no quarter.

Tim picked up the pace. He wanted to watch the rendezvous point for at least forty eight hours before the scheduled pickup.

* * *

Dr. Director knew that she was too old and weak to continue running Global Justice. She knew it was time to pass on the torch. 

William Du was holding a briefcase that she had long prepared just in case. She told him the combination and he opened it for her. Inside were five copies of two documents. The first was the papers appointing someone to serve as interim director of Global Justice. The second was a carefully prepared resignation. They were old, but were legal enough once she filled in the blanks.

"Will...Global Justice needs someone that can keep it running. We have many great investigators, but not so many folks that can handle the day to day paperwork and fundraising. I am doing you no favors, but I need you to keep Global Justice up and running."

Will Du looked at her as she signed over Global Justice to him.

"Dr. Director, Global Justice is and will always be yours. You will always be the Director. I will only be its caretaker. Get well soon...before I lose the rest of my hair."

Betty Director suppressed a chuckle.

"Flattery will get you everywhere. However, even if I am healed, it's time for me to let go. I gave up a lot to get it up and running. I lost a husband, a chance at kids and grandkids. I have a lot of regrets, but letting go is not one of them. No Will...it's all yours and you are the director. I want you to go in and take control. I want you to reenergize our agents. I want to open the newspaper and read about your smashing crime."

"I will boss."

Dr. Director signed her resignation and all the documents were notarized. Everything was official.

"Du, get out of her and get to hunting bad guys."

After twenty years of positioning, Du had taken over. He would have to make some big plays and sacrifice a few pawns so solidify his control over the organization and earn the respect of the donors. Global Justice will be more organized on paramilitary lines and he would start recruiting new blood into the organization. In due time, the organization will be another front for the Project. It's agents all _homo sapiens parabellum_, all part of the project.

Slowly Global Justice will take over the other law enforcement agencies.

Creating and capturing its own creations to incite apprehension and fear mingled with the occasional relief. Calculated actions will spiral the world to turn to him and he will deliver results until the governments eventually turned over the maintenance of order to Global Justice. Other organizations will be penetrated them and soon everyone will act in accordance to his script.

He had ascended to the top of Global Justice. He will soon ascend to the top of the Project.

* * *

**Graphic Scene Warning**

This was one of the rare weekends off for Kim Possible.

Ronnie was off with Ron's parents for the weekend as they tried (in vain) to have him meet some nice Jewish girls.

Ronnie was growing up. He was now taller than his mother. He was going through all the changes. His voice was deepening, his girlfriend was insisting the he shaved, and he was already showing signs of independence. He no longer meekly followed her every command, but at times downright hostile to her at times. He started staying out late. She tried to curb his activities by trying to curbing his allowance, but that was useless. Ronnie seemed to always have cash in his pocket.

She confronted her son about the cash. He blew her off and told her that he did some odd jobs, but there was too much money. She had check his room fearing the worse. Usually when kids had the kind of money Ronnie had, it was drugs. She looked for hiding places but all she found was some _Playboy_ magazines and an envelope of cash, two hundred dollars worth in small bills.

With his girlfriend's propensity for scamming, Ronnie was definitely involved in something not Kosher. The problem was they were getting too good to be caught. She even tried to follow them, but they managed to vanish into thin air.

The former teen superhero who regularly defeated the bad guys was being driven nuts by two fourteen year olds. The Tweebs were not as bad as the Evil Siamese Twins. One of their teachers bestowed the title on Ronnie and Vee and it stuck.

Most parents would be happy. Ronnie had good grades. Ronnie did not do drugs. Ronnie did not sleep around. Ronnie did the chores about the house without prompting. However, for Kim Possible, Ronnie was slipping away too early from her. She was losing control. Unlike his father, Ronnie was immune to the pout. He actually laughed like Zorpox the last time she tried to guilt trip him.

_Ron and I weren't this bad. _

Raising a fourteen year old son and being one of Colorado's top prosecutors kept Kim busy. However, she could not be busy forever. Despite her efforts, there were moments where she had deal with it. Kim had obsessively cleaned the house and weeded the already weeded gardens just to have something to do. However, there was no make do work left.

It was at this moment that Kim turned to her last refuge.

Despite having Irish blood running in her veins, the Possible's were not heavy drinkers like the stereotypical Irish. Alcohol consumption was limited to a glass with a fine meal or a toast at a wedding, but otherwise alcohol consumption was rare. It was Ron that introduced her to wines and spirits. Kim still had the wine book that Ron assembled while in college. Inside were meals and the names of selected wines that would compliment them.

However, Kim came to have a different relationship with alcohol. She went down to the basement. The old owner had a small wine cellar which Kim used to hold the few bottles she kept for just in case company dropped in unannounced. However behind the bottles, Kim hid four earthenware jugs. These were filled with distilled spirits that one of her old acquaintances from her hero days sent to her on occasion as a thank you gift. Inside was a clear liquid that could be traded ounce for ounce with gold. It seemed that the old acquaintance was not only a forest ranger, but a moon shiner who loved making a smooth poison.

Kim grew to love the clear liquid. It took away the pain. It took away the memories and the guilt. It would prevent her from having the nightmares.

Kim actually started looking forward to her days off. She would encourage Ronnie to go over to his girlfriend's house. She _knew_ that they would spend all night watching cheesy 1950's sci-fi flicks just like Ron and she use to do as kids. Then she would knock back three or four glasses and go up to her bed. The jar was liquid happiness and for that she was willing to endure the morning after.

_It doesn't hurt anyone. I don't drive. I don't go off and wake up next to strangers. I don't drink in front of my son. I don't miss work. I don't have a drinking problem. Is being able to not hear the voices for one night too much to ask?_

Kim poured herself five tall glasses over ice and melon slices and put them on a tray. The jug went back in its cozy hiding place. Kim went upstairs and changed into a slip. She looked at the picture of her and Ron in Japan and sipped the drink.

It was cool and yet when it entered, she felt a warmness tingle inside of her. With the first, Kim Possible was legally intoxicated. She attacked the next glass and a third.

_What's wrong with Ron? Why does he stare at me like this? It's his fault that I got left behind. If he did not knock me up, God would have allowed me to die with him. I did not abandon you Ron...You were the one who left me behind to raise our son. _

Kim drank down the last glass and waited for the full effect.

"Shut up. What's wrong with you? Why don't you make love to me anymore? I did not let myself get fat like the other girls...I did not chase down other men. Ron, why don't you hold me anymore?"

Ron did not answer. Ron never answered.

"Your son is more of a man than you are Ron Stoppable. He at least has a girlfriend."

Ron was so unresponsive. Kim had to get Ron riled up. The problem is that nothing riles Ron up anymore. She could confess to being a porn slut and still he still would not be riled up. So she made up something in a futile effort.

"Ronnie is fucking a girl. He is probably knocking her up as we speak. He is more of a stud than you were. He doesn't fucking abandon her when she needed him. He saved her. You...I had to save you so many times I lost count. I needed you Ron...I needed you and you left me. You knocked me up and left me. I gave you my body and when I needed your help, you left me behind.

"Speak god damn it. Don't tell me that you don't hear me. Fourteen years Ron...fourteen years of having to use Mr. Purple. Fourteen years of being untouched. Look at me...What made you leave me? It had to be one of those bitches...which one, Ron?

"Tara...Hope...Monique...Bonnie...is it one of the girls in the squad? Is it one of those sexy villainess? Adrian Lynn...Shego? I seen your eyeballs pop up when you see that little slut slink about in her skintight suit. You were probably thinking of her when you were banging me. I knew it...you always closed your eyes went we kissed and when you came.

Kim tore at her slip.

"Here...you can bang anyone you want...I will let you have an open relationship...just please don't leave me..."

Ron never answered.

"Damn you for making me your horny slut. Before you, I was happy to be untouched. Now look at me...look at what I have to do to get a little relief."

Kim opened her drawer and pulled out her vibrator.

"Look at me Ron. It could have you instead of Mr. Purple. We use to make hot passionate sex. Christ you have me screaming your name. I never had to fake an orgasm or finish myself off when you were a part of my life. Now look at me.

"You are not a man. You have to a fag not to come back for this. You must be queer like my little brother was. If I was not his mother and Ronnie saw me like this he would have been a man and step up to the plate. I bet his tool is bigger than yours. I bet his girlfriend walks funny and hears double. Look at me."

Kim used her all-to-familiar substitute. When it did its job, Kim curled up into a sobbing ball.

Kim loved Ron and hated him at the same time.

_Doesn't he know what his death did to me? He is staring at me and yet won't even say sorry._

Kim grabbed Ron's photo and threw it in the corner. She turned over and faced her ancient Pandaroo.

"Sorry. You were there. You saw how we use to be. We use to kick you off the bed all the time. I am sorry for that. I believed that he would have been there for me forever. It was all lies. Now he won't say anything...I just want him to say something even if it's 'I hate you Kim Possible!' Thank you for being so loyal, Pandaroo. Ron has made me a drunk...I hope that you can live with yourself, Ron Stoppable."

She did not care that he died...that his rotting corpse was three miles away buried at the local cemetery. He had abandoned her when she needed him the most.

Kim gulped down the last elixir of liquid happiness and drifted off to sleep trying to figure out who seduced her Ron away from her.

**End of Graphic Scene **

* * *

Ron thanked God that he did not inherit some of noses those _nice_ Jewish girls that his Grandma Stoppable tried to pair him off with. Grandpa was weary from forty years of being dominated by a Jewish wife and _Yes dear, she seems nice_ every time his Grandma asked him about some youth girl. 

The worse had to be the rabbi's granddaughter.

Ron was dress in a new suit that had too much starch in shoes that were too tight in the toes. Worse he was expected to dance with the girls in front of all the mothers and grandmothers. It was like he was a cow being paraded in from of the butchers at an action.

_No wonder why dad picked mom. Hell, I would rather be gay than risk having these vultures be my mother-in-law._

The girls were all fighting among themselves to meet the new boy and the boys were grumbling about him taking all the cute girls.

"Ronnie, are you having a good time?"

Ronnie looked at his grandmother wondering just how much longer this hell was going to continue.

"Grandma, I already got a girlfriend."

"Is she Jewish?"

Ronnie shook his head.

"Then she will not be your wife. Good Jewish boys marry nice Jewish girls."

"But I'm Catholic like mom."

Grandma slapped him on the hand with a soup spoon.

"Go and dance with the girl. Being Jewish is not a punishment or disease. We don't believe in celibacy. Make some Jewish mother happy that her daughter is not dating some savage."

A matron walked up with a girl in tow.

"Glenda...is the little Constance? She has grown up. This is my grandson, Ronald Stoppable Possible...Ron's son."

Ronnie gave Constance the look over. She was attractive but anything would be attractive next to the battle-ax of a grandmother.

"Why haven't I seen this one at temple before," the old cow asked.

"His mom was not one of us, insists on making this one be a Catholic priest."

The look in Glenda's eye was not exactly reassuring. He did not know if the old cow was sizing him up for her granddaughter or herself.

"Why don't the two of you dance while we old ladies chat?"

Constance took his hand and led him out to the dance floor. She gave him a smile.

"I heard you are a pilot."

"Helicopters..."

"I too am studying to be a pilot. When I emigrate to Israel, I want to fly jets."

"That sounds nice..."

The song changed to a slow number. Constance led him to a quiet corner and trapped him in the corner.

"Am I pretty?"

Ronnie remembered Violetta saying those three words and he knew where that ended. Having one girlfriend was confusing enough for the young man. Two...there was no way that he could juggle two girls. Vee seemingly had a lie detector somewhere in her brain.

"Yes, you are. But I have a boyfriend."

Ronnie did not know where the word came from. He meant to say girlfriend, but the misstatement bought him some time as the girl was stunned.

She stood there for a moment and then chased him.

Forty minutes later, he was looking down through the skylight at the party below wondering just how bad he messed up with that slip of a tongue. The girls were probably whispering among themselves that Possible is queer. The old women would then click their collective tongues.

_That's expected when you let your grandson be Catholic. Celibacy...no wonder why all their priests are queer._

He knew his grandmother would rip him a new one. Both of his grandmothers would rip him a new one for even suggesting that he was queer. Uncle Jim's coming out of the closet was too much and they would die before admitting that their only grandson swam the opposite way. Their genetic legacy was all in one basket...him. If he ever became gay...

_Imagine that mushroom cloud. _

Ronnie remembered the time his mom caught Vee and he in their birthday suits. His mother blew up, but the rest of the family was cheering that he was not gay...that someday there will be another generation of Possible's to continue the legacy. Grandpa Possible was actually ecstatic and gave him a couple hundred dollars to buy a suit so as to charm the women.

Ronnie sat at the edge of the roof and wondered what his grandparents were going to do to him.

"I wouldn't jump if I was you."

It was her...the one who caused him to blurt out boyfriend. She was standing by the door to the stairwell. He got up and stood on the ledge.

"Being gay must be difficult...Having to live a double life. I am willing to act like your girlfriend so they won't know. That way, my mother and grandmother won't worry about me dating a gentile."

Ronnie suppressed a moan. Now she was trying to help him hide his _dirty secret._ Vee would be laughing at him if it was not him.

"Connie, I am not gay. I just said boyfriend instead of girlfriend. I have a girlfriend, but my grandma...she is upset my dad did not marry Jewish...so she is trying to rope me in. I did not ask to be paraded like livestock at a cattle auction."

"I hate you...if I am so fucking ugly then why didn't you have to balls to tell me."

Ronnie knew that he had a problem and wished that he had Vee's people handling skills.

"It's not you. If I didn't have a girlfriend, I would be hitting on you, leading you up here, and seducing you right now. If you had a boyfriend, wouldn't you expect him to be loyal and not cheat on you."

"It's not fair. The first boy my grandma tried to match me up with that I had a actually crush on...rejected me. It was easier when I thought you were gay. I would then understand why I did not have a chance. I hope you are banging that slut of yours because you are not going to get into my dress."

Ronnie found himself smiling at the wrong time.

"Don't even smile or I will kick you off this roof myself you...big eared freak. Besides you can't even get to first base. Even if you are naked, in prison, tied up with your butt in the air, and surrounded by queer rapists..."

Ronnie took a deep breath in an effort to control himself.

"I bet you require tweezers to jerk yourself off and that you beg to be the bottom ho. A six year old is too much woman for you."

Ronnie had enough with the girl's crazy talk. There was a fire escape landing eight feet below. It was time to make his exit.

"Thank you for letting me know exactly how you feel princess. See you in the next life."

Ronnie took one step back and let himself fall down to the fire escape ramp. The window was open and he slipped back into the party.

Everyone will believe that the girl is nuts when she reported that Ronnie Possible jumped off the building. With a smile, he walked to the men's room.

_Let the head games begin._

There was a buzz as the girl ran to his grandparents about his suicide. It was time to make his entrance. As she was telling them that he jumped off the roof, he just walked up, tapped her on the shoulder and said boo.

She fell and he simply shrugged his shoulders.

Grandma Stoppable asked him what happened.

"She went kind of went batty when I turned her down."

_Game, set, and match._

What he did not know was that the game only begun.

* * *

Paranoia...it keep Tim breathing. 

He had hiked all night to the RV point. He then sanitized the area, making sure there was no sign of his present. He then waited in a place where he could keep an eye on road.

The pick up would not happen for twenty four more hours. Tim fell asleep until the sound of a diesel engine was heard in the distance. The vehicle slowed down and stopped. Three armed men exited and the vehicle took off.

Igor Michalovich had obviously decided to not pay Timofey the remainder of his promised fee.

The trio moved to the pick up and then fanned out to good ambush locations. They dug in and waited for him to walk into the ambush.

Tim grabbed his knife and his weapon. They were doing this for pay. Tim was doing this for his family.

Slowly Tim crawled through the forest making his way to the nearest ambusher. He would have to kill them all and then make his way back to town to settle account with Igor.

Tim slide behind the first man. He covered the mouth and slid the blade into the base of the man's skull just like some army manual taught him. What they did not say was that the enemy bites and that when you stab someone they tend to flop and make noise.

"Josef, is things all right."

Tim disguised his voice, "Damn bugs."

"Just be careful. Igor told us the Cossack was some Spetnaz type and is paranoid. He will be checking the area before he walks in. We got to keep quiet. You got first watch."

Tim waited for everyone to calm down before making his way to the next victim. This one was sleepy at his post. Tim snapped the neck before this one could make any noise.

The last one...Tim had to find out what was happening. He needed a prisoner...a messenger to tell Igor that he messed with the wrong man.

Tim circled around the clearing. The last one was not an outdoorsman like the other two. Tim could see the police uniform. The last man was clean shaven and apparently carried all the comforts of home on this little excursion.

He was unfamiliar with the woods. Every sound only made his head twitch.

Tim would wait. One can only be watchful so long.

Two and a half hours later the cop had to respond to nature's call. He walked up to a set of bushes, unbotton his fly, and let loose a stream of burning piss. As he was buttoning up his fly, the Russian cop found a bloody knife to his throat.

"Your friends meet my little Sasha here three hours ago. Now you will speak the truth. If you are truthful, little Sasha will not harm you. If you lie, you will be begging me to let you die, _svolotch_ (pig). Now tell me exactly what is Igor up to."

Tim listened as the cop described Igor's plan to double cross him. Igor will get the drugs and sell them. He will also get credit for killing a murder and rescuing Marie Romanov from her captor. The cop was to bring in Tim's head. Once the Cossack was dead, they would go up to the grieving widow.

Tim kept his word.

Little Sasha did not kill the cop.

Rather Tim broke the cop's neck. Tim took the uniform and put it on. The uniform did not fit, but nothing ever fits in this land. Tim waited...waited and prepared a little gift for Igor.

* * *

Igor Michalovich was smiling when the cop was waiting at the road side with the bundle. 

The cop had two packages. The drugs went into the back and the cop slid in next to him. He handed Igor a wrapped bundle.

"I suggest next time you hire better help."

Igor looked up and saw the face of the Cossack staring right at him. The look in the eye...Igor had only seen the look in harden killers.

"Igor Michalovich...I am going to ask you a series of questions and you will answer them honestly or I will take you to the old man. I have plenty of practice in the old ways of making men talk."

Igor Michalovich knew that he was a dead man.

"You are going to kill me..."

Timofey Ivanovich smiled.

"Death comes in many ways.

"If you are a good little boy...I let you enjoy an overdose. It is not as good as a whore fucking you to death from exhaustion, but a pleasant way to go. If you are a bad little boy, I will begin your sex change operation with a rusty spoon. If your information is good enough...I might even consider letting you live. If you lie to me like you lie to your boss...you will live not a man, unable to communicate who did this to you."

"Question One...What made you believe that you could double-cross a Cossack and survive?"

* * *

Igor Michalovich sat alone in the police station. There was no one else. All the other cops were phantoms...ghosts created to pad the payroll. The only other real cop was dead in the woods. Once, this office was Igor's seat of power. Now he was in the power of another man. 

"I am happy that you have been forthcoming, Igor Michalovich. You have enjoyed nearly four decades of alcoholic bliss in this cold land. Now it is time for you to go. Since you have been quite informative, I have decided to let your end be pleasant. Drink up...Drink all of this and remember to give my regards to the devil when you see him."

Timofey handed him a bottle of vodka and watched as Igor drank it down. He then opened the old man's mouth and made sure that he swallowed it all.

"Here is the next one. Enjoy comrade."

One by one, the corrupt cop drank the bottles until he passed out. Timofey woke him up twice and forced him to keep on drinking.

Tim Possible returned back to the cabin he shared with Marie. She looked at him and cried.

"I am back, Marie. Igor Michalovich drank himself to death and we are safe for now. I am not going out into the woods without you again."

The problem was things were not okay.

The village no longer had its corrupt protector. If any outsiders found out about this...the village would become a no man's land for bandits. Tim had killed the local godfather...now he had to ascend to the seat. First, he had to keep the police station up and running. Thankfully Igor had eight fictitious police officers on the payroll and that would allow Tim to bring in three and pay them a decent salary plus with the salaries of the two dead policemen, he had enough to support a family. However if the flow of crime stopped there would be questions.

Tim found himself becoming a lawman in the _diky diky vostock_ (wild, wild East). He had to uphold the law in the village and yet ensure that it be broken in the country side.


	43. To Do List

**Moving Onwards**

**To Do Lists**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

My muse has been starving,

Please review and feed her a virtual cookie,

Otherwise she will take her bad temper out on me.

* * *

Yori Yamaguchi walked up to the door of the Possible's residence. 

During Kim's visit to Japan fifteen years ago, the two women instinctively sensed that they were rivals. They had competed for the same man. The rivalry grew so bad that only Master Sensei's explicate command prevent Yori from challenging Kim to the ancient Japanese practice of dueling to the death.

Yori's heart was pounding. Her adrenaline was racing for another fight.

_It would be too easy. I could ring the doorbell and decapitate her with my fan before Kim Possible would even know what is going on. She has slowed down...she had not been in a life and death situation for over fifteen years. I could easily kill the red headed bitch._

However, Yori's mission was not about assassination, no matter how badly Kim hurt her in the past. Yori's mission was to stop Hirotaka from corrupting another generation with his perversions of the Yamanouchi clan's traditions. To do that, she had to find the child in her visions.

Her excuse was that she was dropping off some files from her husband. She had copies of some minor documents just in case Kim got suspicious.

Yori rang the doorbell, but there was no answer.

Kim was at home. Her husband Richard had Kim's cell phone number. Using a special computer program she liberated from Global Justice while she was still an agent, she had a running track on Kim's location. Kim was home.

It was seven in the morning and Yori did not have much time. She went around the house, through a side gate, and into the back yard. There were no signs of dogs. Yori could easily deal with mutts, but killing the family pet for doing its job was not a way of befriending a former rival.

The rear door was locked but one of the second floor windows was opened. Yori went up to the columns holding up the balcony. Looking at the soft earth, there was a faint impression of a small foot. Instinctively, Yori knew that this was how Master Sensei's granddaughter would sneak in and out of the house. Yori listened for any signs of life, but there was none.

Missing a hand made climbing much more difficult. However, Yori mastered other ways to climb and when in through the window. Inside was a boy's room. On the wall were hand painted posters of decapitated monsters and two hero's celebrating their victory. One was a red headed samurai and the other a green eyed girl in an assassin's outfit wielding two Chinese _dao_ (sabers).

Yori searched the room. Under the bed there was a loose board. In the space was a thick wad of cash, an old laboratory notebook filled with observations and recipes for destructive pranks, and a small photo album. There were a series of photos of the boy and girl from about the age of four. They traced ten of the lost years that Master Sensei would have had being a grandfather. Yori took a digital camera from her fanny pack and took some pictures of the room and copies of the photos.

Yori lifted a photo graph of the young girl in a swimsuit accepting a medal. Despite the braces, the young girl was very pretty, but there was an aura about the photo that unsettled Yori. Yori put everything else back.

Yori then slipped out to the hallway.

The house was over a century old, built in early 1900's and had features that would be too expensive to build today. The floors were thick hardwood planks and generated no noise as she made her way downstairs. One the table by the door was Kim's purse. Her identification and credit cards were there.

There was something wrong.

Yori opened the front door slightly and ensured that her fingerprints were present on the exterior of the door. She had her fan out folded, but still ready to be deployed if a fight was going to ensue.

Remembering the layout of the house from her visions, Yori went to the room adjacent to Kim's and listened through the common wall. There was no sound. Yori walked to Kim's door and opened it.

A wave of stench immediately assaulted Yori's nose...A mixture of sex, vomit, and alcohol. Yori peeked inside the room.

Kim Possible was lying in her vomit. She was naked with a purple...penis substitute...halfway into her cave. On the floor was a broken picture frame with a photograph of Ron and Kim at the Yamanouchi hot springs.

Yori planed to close the door, but she needed information on the girl. However, she first took a good hard look at the broken thing Ron left behind. Yori had moved on, but it was obvious that Kim still had not. Any thoughts of revenge vanished for fate had stuck down Kim Possible in a way the Yori never could.

_I am not touching that thing with my only hand._

Yori went downstairs and grabbed the salad tongs.

* * *

Kim awoke in the bath tub being scrubbed down by a stranger. She tried to stand but her legs were not capable. 

"Don't even try. You are still smashed from last night. The front door was wide open...I am surprised that no one ransacked the place."

Kim could not think past the headache to comprehend that someone was bathing her like a mother would do with a newborn.

"I will be okay."

However the lady shook her head.

"I learned to let go of Stoppable-san when he moved on to his next life. You are still hurting. Alcohol and self-induced debauchery is not the answer, Kim."

"How..."

"Master Sensei sent me on a mission concerning your son..."

_Yori...Yori Suzuki was Master Sensei's female pupil and his right hand_. _Son...no effing way._

"No way...I lost Ron...I am not losing Ronnie."

"Close your eyes, I am going to squirt some shampoo into your hair. Work it in well...you slept in your vomit."

Yori squirted the shampoo whether or not Kim was ready.

"Just how bad...God that hurts."

"You are going to have to rub it in yourself. I have only one hand left. I came out second best in a sword fight."

Kim wanted to argue, but this beast...even a kitten was more than enough to overpower her.

"Now, simply put...your son is in the center of events as you and Ron-san were. Nothing would change that fact. As much as you and your family have suffered...fate has more challenges for your son."

"Translate the psychic-babble into English please."

"Ronnie is going to be up to neck in shit unless he learns to tap into his powers."

"What powers? He is just a normal boy."

Yori shook her head, "Ron's son will never be normal. You were not normal. Ron-san was never normal. Remember the Ron factor and the monkey powers...they past down the bloodline. Ron's son must learn otherwise...It will be disastrous. There are those who seek to use your son for their own ends. One of them is already after your son."

"What?"

"Master Sensei can tell you more than I can. All I know is one of our own left our clan and now had surrendered to the darkness."

"Who...is it that Fuka...guy that worked for Monkey Fist?"

Yori shook her head in the negative.

"I _dealt with_ Fukashima permanently a decade ago...he will no longer inflict his perversions on young girls. No, it's someone else more lethal...You fought him once and could not touch him. If he fought back you would not be alive today. His name is Hirotaka Yamanouchi. He was Master Sensei's only son and he wants your son and someone else..."

Kim Possible did not want to ask what dealt with permanently exactly meant. She knew that the Japanese legal system was governed more by custom rather than the written law itself and that Japanese police officers can get more physical with suspects.

"Who is this someone else?" asked Kim.

"His daughter...Your son's lover...Master Sensei's granddaughter."

Kim started praying that this was only an alcohol-induced nightmare.

* * *

Today was the statewide YMCA dive meet and Violetta Lee was on the verge of losing it. 

Normally Violetta would easily claim the gold. However, one of the other teams brought in a ringer. She was obviously once of those child athletes how was groomed from the embryo to win Olympic gold medals.

Vee was currently in second place, a place that she hated more than anything else.

_Second place mean that you stand in front of everyone else so that they can publicly proclaim that you weren't good enough to be a winner_.

Second...silver...both words began with the dread S that caused her to stutter uncontrollably when she tried to speak. She could not accept losing...winning was the only habit worth having. Losing was losing. Second place and last were the same.

9.86...That was the number that Violetta needed to claim the gold. Anything lower, she might as well let herself drown. It would be the tenth and final dive. This was the five meter platform.

Coach McClintock looked at Vee. Vee was the closer.

Vee knew that she was hyperventilating. She was afraid of heights...really afraid of heights. Yet Vee found herself signing up with the team to prove to Ronnie and the others that she was not afraid of anything.

_Liar, you might as well start glowing in the face like Ronnie._

To win, Vee would have to pull off a dive that haunted her in practice...the stat keeper call it a 5239D...a backward one and a half somersault with a four and a half-twist and she would have to do it perfectly off the five meter platform, one of the highest difficulty dives. Every time she did it in practice something was wrong. She did not plan on doing it for competition, but some of the girls on the team dared Miss Perfect and she could not back down from a challenge. To win, she would have to be flawless and would have to fly dangerously close to the board. And then she would have to psych out the competition.

Vee controlled her breathing and stared down the front runner until the organizers called her name. She climbed up unto the platform refusing to look down. Vee's stomach was cramping up, but she refused to give her competitors the satisfaction of seeing her quiver in fear.

Vee closed her eyes and threw herself off the five-meter platform.

Vee did not recall how she did it, but she did it. She ripped into the water perfectly. She climbed up out of the water and stared down the newcomer as Coach McClintock handed Vee her towel.

9.98...She did it.

She went to the bathroom where she puked her guts out from the stress. She then walked back to where her team was and waited. The others instinctively formed a protective ring around her as she curled up into a ball of nervousness. If the team won, they would go to Nationals. If not...Vee did not want to think on the if-not scenario.

There was a loud smack, a collective gasp, a loud splash, and a body floating limp in the water. The lifeguards jumped in and pulled the body out of the water and unto the stretcher board where they immediately immobilized her. The girl's neck was broken. The ambulance came and took the girl away. The meet was over...the girl was dead or she was a wheelchair bound cripple for the rest of her days.

Vee went into the showers wondering just how much she was responsible for what happened. Vee pulled off the dive. The girl tried to up the ante by performing her drive closer to the edge of the board and score the extra points, but instead smacked her head. Vee was vicious when it came to competition, but she drew the line at permanent damage.

Vee stripped off her bathing suit, showered, dried off, and changed into her normal street wear.

"Winning is not worth the price she had to pay. Give her the medal."

Her coach did not argue with Vee. Vee handed over her team swimwear. She would go to the Nationals, but after that she would never dive again.

* * *

Robert Rockwaller had filled up the old 1997 Honda Civic with gasoline and double checked the fluids on the Utah-Colorado border. 

There were lots of memories involve with this car. When his mother ran away form home, this small car was home. She nearly gave birth to him in this car. They lived in car when his mother was not living in some sleazy motel. It was the thing that he once called the _vroom-vroom_ as a toddler. Eighteen years ago, his mother left Middleton driving this car and now she was returning in the same car.

Robert did not know that his mother keep the car until a couple weeks ago. He thought that she got rid of it when she got that job with Liszt Industries and bought the Dodge minivan.

He was use to the instant responsiveness of his supercharged Mini-Copper S, but the Civic was surprisingly reliable in spite of having exceeded the mechanical limits of the odometer a long time ago.

If Robert drove straight through, they would be in Middleton a lifetime ago. However, his mother easily tired and after a few hours he would have to check in the local motel so she could rest. He looked at his mother sleeping in the passenger seat. From the drugs and nausea, she was now under eighty pounds. His mother was skin, bones, cancer, and defiance. She had held out much longer than the doctors predicted, but defiance could only last so long.

His mother was hanging on for what...Robert did not know. All he had was an address in Middleton, Colorado and a set of directions pulled of the internet from His mom had to get there alive and Robert vowed to do so.

He got his mother a bag of Skittles – her favorite candy and some bottled water. It was another three and half hours to Middleton. She did not have much time and he would drive straight through. Otherwise she would die before he got there.

His mom was already talking to dead relatives. That was not a good sign.

* * *

Kim Possible was wondering how she messed everything up. 

Yori described the spirit journey and held no details back. Yori had identified the infamous MID-Killer, but it was evidence that no judge or jury would believe. However what shook Kim was the fact that her little boy was not a little boy anymore.

"Yori, I will..."

"No Kim, you will not rip into your son for doing exactly what you and his father did. I saw you in the baths. Now Karma is getting even."

Kim blushed. She remember what exactly happen in the hot spring baths at Yamanouchi. The only way things could have gotten ranchier was making it three way and inviting voyeurs.

"Without each other, both the children will fall to Hirotaka's twisted dreams. You told me about their flirtation with trouble and Violetta's scheming. If they are that good naturally, just think what would happen if they both fall into Hirotaka's hands and he trains them to be his successors?

"Remember when Stoppable-san became the villain Zorpox and the difficulties you had in stopping him. Now image your son becoming a new and improved Zorpox with perhaps one of the world's most dangerous women at his side. Imagine Zorpox and Shego with real martial art skills. I have watched Violetta at her wishu demonstrations. Martial arts are in her blood. She is already better than most of the life-long trainees at Yamanouchi. She had long surpassed Shego when it comes to her fighting skills. If you fought her in your prime, she would nearly be as untouchable as her father.

"The only thing that has saved the world is the fact that they love one another too much and they love those that raised them too much."

Kim could not accept that truth.

"I am not losing my son to some girl."

Yori shook her head, "You are not losing a son...you are gaining a daughter, Kim."

"Daughter in law...crap, they are not even eighteen. What if he gets her pregnant? Vee can't get pregnant with her condition."

Yori smiled, "I read the threads. As long as they don't fall...Vee won't be a mother for some time. She still has much growing up to do as your son has much growing up to do. There is a cloud hanging over your family. Your enemies are much closer than you think. You will encounter old rivals and make new allies. The threads are being brought together. You can ignore this or you can prepare and protect your family."

Kim breathed a sigh of relief until she remembered that she did not believe in the mystical crap.

"But..."

"But what Kim? Are you going to tell me that you don't believe in magic? You have seen death rays, juvenator-rays, brain switching machines, mind control devices, and seen things that science cannot yet explain. Just believe that I have some knowledge about something that science cannot yet explain. Remember the jackal amulet and the monkey idols?"

Despite over a decade spent in the court room cutting down defense witnesses, Kim Possible could not find a retort. She could not deny her experience, no matter what logic told her.

"Why me, Yori? When Ron needed me, I could not pull the trigger. What makes you believe that I can do it now?"

"Pulling the trigger was never your task. Your task is to let go of your guilt. Your task is to accept your daughter and help her realize that no matter what her ancestors were she has a family that loves her unconditionally. There is much we don't know about the demons that drives her. She will need your acceptance as she deals with her inner demons.

"You also have to accept that your son will never be exactly like you. In many ways he is Stoppable-san's son. Ron-san followed you out of love. If you turned to evil, he would have joined you, protected you, and help you take over the world because he loved you. You son feels the same for his love."

Kim looked at the Japanese woman.

"What about you?"

"I am here to help. My husband, Richard, does not know everything. All he knows is that I am visiting an old friend. He might be of Japanese descent, but he believes more in placing lead to the head than the sword."

Yori paused for a moment and then continued with an obvious spur of the moment plan, "I will arrange with my former superior in the Japanese National Police for a sample of Master Sensei's DNA and Hirotaka's DNA to be couriered over from Japan to your crime lab so you have an official ID on the MID-Killer. I will arrange for the leak of Hirotaka's name and distribute the most current photograph we have to be put on the news. That way, he is too busy hiding to lash out."

"What about..."

"You will hold a working dinner conference here...cater the food. Invite the girl and her foster mother, the police detective heading the case, Richard Yamaguchi and myself. Invite a few of the major players but they must be here. I will give everyone an edited run down on Hirotaka. I will hold back the ninja part saying that he was an expert in martial arts, a former police special operations type, and _believes_ he is a spiritual descendant of the ninja since he came from Iga province. Richard and I will go over what we know of his Yakuza contacts and operations.

"I will somehow try to communicate with the child and tell her the truth. I only hope that she does not hate us for the crimes of her father. She is the only family that Master Sensei has left. Master Sensei is old and I want him to at least have a few years with his granddaughter even if its only to visit."

Kim Possible had more than enough weirdness in her life. Her son was some kind of monkey master. Her prospective daughter in law was some kind of natural ninja. They were both...lvoers. Kim threw up her hands.

_Nothing made any sense_.

It was like fate was deliberately putting together dangerous genetic combinations. Ronnie – part monkey master/computer whiz trained by Wade/pilot/mad scientist from the Tweebs type crossed with Violetta – part con artist and now part-ninja. She briefly wondered what the grandchildren would be like.

_What else can go wrong?_

The only way fate could get more disturbing and twisted was if Shego turned out to be Violetta's mother and passed on the plasma blasting genes.

_Thankfully Shego was long dead before Violetta was born_.

It was disturbing, but the image of Violetta dealing with a room full of little kids turned conniving monkey ninjas/mad scientist brought a smile on Kim's face. If that came to be, Kim would remember not to volunteer for long babysitting stints and to dope the grandkids up on sugar before handing them back.

Kim had to stop dreaming. She had to put together a big too do list.

* * *

Ronnie was frightened. 

Normally, Vee attacked the new two pound, twice-fried, Spicy Hot, Megaton Atomic Beef Burrito from Bueno Nacho like Patton would attack Germans. It was her favorite fast food treat, but she was staring blankly like the food or Ronnie does not exist.

He witnessed the incident at the dive meet and watched Vee turn in her team swimsuit.

He got out of his seat and slid next to her.

He hugged her.

"I killed her Ronnie."

"Vee, the girl is still alive."

"No, killing her would be merciful. The girl is living with a dead dream. She dreamt of going to the Olympics and now...It should have been me. It would not be a waste. Because of my meds, I can't go there."

"What?"

"I only have four years left to live, Ronnie. When I am eighteen, I will try to quit the meds and I will probably die in the process. I don't expect to live to ever be free."

Ronnie heard and red about Red Crystal, but this was the first time he heard Vee confess this.

"The girl was free, Ronnie. She had a lifetime left to live. The girl had a chance to go all the way and I took it form her so I did not come in sec...second. I had to pull it off. I psyched her Ron. I dared her to beat me. To win she decide to pull it too close to the edge and broke her neck."

Ronnie was not hearing anything anymore. He remembered the incident when Vee overdosed on her medications.

He remembered the words the deputy told him that morning.

_Once you're hooked, you keep on using or you die. Look at her kid, that is what happens to them all in the end. They OD or die. Shame, she was a pretty girl._

Now Ronnie knew exactly why the deputy and paramedics acted as if Violetta was already dead.

"Ronnie, it's best that we..."

An irrational anger took over. No one was going to take his lover away. Vee was tougher than anyone else.

"Never say that Vee. You are going to live. We are going to get married and have kids. Our grandkids will have to bury us when we are old and die from having too much old person sex."

Vee shook her head as Ronnie's face winced from the thought.

"It's not all right. I...Ronnie, I want you to promise me one thing...promise me that if I die, you find another girl. I don't want you to end up like your mother...drinking to dull the pain of being alone. Promise me..."

The lie came from his throat, "I promise."

"Don't bother to lie to me, Glow Face Boy."

"But..."

"No buts Ronnie, losing those you love will always hurt. I lost real mother when I was born and it hurts even today. But I love Tita 'Berta for more than raising me and putting up with my antics. Tita 'Berta is now my mother and I love her as if she was my real mom. I moved on. I need to know that you will move on. Even if it hurts...move on."

Ronnie just hugged Vee as she broke down in tears.

After that incident, he thought that things would work out. However deep down inside he knew that love could not stop death. His mother loved his father and that did not stop death. His uncle Jim had a lover and that did not stop his death. Uncle Tim was missing and probably dead. No...love did not stop death; love only made death hurt more.

* * *

Marie was looking over what pasted for bookkeeping in Igor Michalovich's old office as Tim waited for her verdict. 

"Not efficient. He got about 50,000-Euros per year from the mines and another 75,000 from his other rackets and this is all he has saved up since he was assigned her. He must blow his money on the whores in Perm or snorts it up his nose. Still 225,000-Euros in the bank accounts I found...no wonder why he stayed in this place. I figure with all the payments we have to continue, that the rackets will net 65,000-Euro a year. Throw in my currency manipulation skills and we can own the mines outright within six months. However, I suggest instead on investing in some overseas markets...lots of small little pots to draw on instead of one big pot that someone can take away from us."

It was disturbing for Tim to see Marie become the bookkeeper for the organized crime syndicate Tim inadvertently inherited when he dealt with Igor Michalovich. Tim came to learn that Marie was not so innocent when it came to white colored crime and that her father was grooming her to inherit the family business empire. In her own way, she could be more crooked than he could. Overnight, Timofey handled the muscle...Marie was the banker. Tim was trying to figure out how his child would turn out. If crime was packaged in DNA...Tim wondered just how long before his child would own his own nation or worse yet the world.

_Posibeev and Sons..shaking down the world since 2025._

"So tell me what Igor was doing."

"Everything he can except for girls. He tried, but here girls are strong protected by the men. There are more men than ladies in this region so there are no surplus girls to sell to the cities."

Marie sounded so matter of fact about it.

"As for his other rackets, there is nothing that we need to keep on that affects the village. Drugs are not locally consumed, but shipped to China. Caviar and furs the take is small...too small to be worth the time to try to collect. I say we let it be known that we won't bother with it. The villagers will love you for that and protect us should anything happen. Besides the word will get out and there will be an increase in trade. We will see a revenue increase from the nominal taxes...just like your President Regan did. We just hold back a percentage of the taxes collected and underreport as all the other crooks do. Medical supplies...we just past to the old grandfather and he can handle distribution. The only things that we need to tolerate now are the mine operations and the illegal drugs to China."

It was exactly like the old style Italian mob. Crime in one hand and supporting the local community with the other hand. He entered this community only a couple months ago and now he was the local _capo_. All he needed were Tommy gun totting executioners.

Outside the office he had the next best thing. There were three new police officers who each got pay double the going rate. They were all veterans of the brutal campaigns in Chechnya and in awe of the man who now ran the village. They got paid twice the going salary for a Russian police officer. They were armed with Soviet-era AKSU-74's fresh out of the packing crate. The village was peaceful.

Timofey Ivanovich laid down the law on the drunks and wife beaters. Drunk and quiet okay, but you fight and you get dunked in the river to sober up before you have to go to jail. Wife beating was punished by being held down and having the local police gave the wife or in one case her brother an ax handle. The rule was simple...no head blows, but everything else was okay. The drunken fights and wife beating stopped after the first two object lessons.

However, demand for smuggled drugs to China was increasing. To get around the check point was eating up time and money. Timofey could not just walk the packs himself, nor could he ask the locals to do it. He had to get the regional police commander to move his check point.

Tim had an idea. He would see what the adjacent police commanders were doing to supplement his income. Marie was happily compiling her big to-do list and he knew that he would have to check off each and everyone of the items.

* * *

Russian Police Colonel Vasilii Heinrich-Schultz was a man of contradictions. 

Legally a citizen of Russia, three of his four great-grandfathers were once Germans infantrymen who were captured in Stalingrad and somehow survived long enough in the gulag to marry his great-grandmothers and ensure that he inherited a German name. He grew up in a German speaking community where Russian was everyone's second language and everyone tried to maintain a pseudo pre-war Germanic culture that was kept underground.

Born just before the fall of the Soviet Union, Vasilii had somehow managed to get into University at Perm and managed to get into the police despite having fascists in his bloodlines. Like his Prussian ancestors, he looked down on the pure ethnic Russians as crude peasants. Despite sharing a one room hut with seven brothers and sisters, the Heinrich-Schultz's considered themselves cultured for they hanged unto the traditions his great grandfathers tried in vain to impose upon Russia. The member of the Heinrich-Schultz clan were ambitious and all had clawed their way into various government positions and those that did not were involved in business. Vasilii had somehow clawed his way to Police Colonel overseeing the grandsons of the men who once herded his ancestors like animals. He was young, only in his middle thirties, and he was positioning himself and his family for advancement.

On paper he commanded approximately 1,200 police officers. He counted about 480 on his last inspection tour. However he did not even bother to fix that fact. If he did not turn a blind eye to this waste, no one would be a police officer in this forgotten land. Besides, if he had 720 more police officers, there would be 720 more bribe sucking parasites all with their protectors to manage.

However, what he needed were some victories to take to his superiors, but he needed victories that would not piss off some powerful mafia godfather. It was in that moment a phone call was put through to his office.

"Da...Da...It will be as you wish...Da."

It was not everyday that fortune smiled on Vasilii Heinrich-Schultz. An incompetent died and the successor would deliver a big bust. Two metric tons worth of drugs and some corrupt cops that double-crossed him. They should know better than to think that they could cut him off from his cut. All that it would cost him is to authorize an augmentation to the local police payroll and some extra supplies. For a couple metric tons of drugs to be caught, an object lesson to all the other police commanders, and then dribbling the drugs out on the market when the prices go up, Vasilli was more than willing.

An ambious underling was dangerous, but used right the underling can propell the master to great hieghts. Vasilii once dreams of earning general stars. However being so close, he was starting to think about politics. There was an open slot for Interior Minister and whoever took that slot would need a capable right hand man. With a Germanic name, he doubted that he would get the top slot, but to be the man behind the throne.

* * *

Doctor Sanchez said the words that would forever haunt him, "_Violetta's dead Ronnie. She did not make it through the withdrawal."_

_Ronnie ran up to the gurney and yanked off the sheet. Vee's lifeless emerald eye's were staring up at him...acusing him for not being able to help her._

"_Look at her kid, that is what happens to them all in the end. They OD or die. Shame, she was a pretty girl." replied the nurse._

_Just as the nurse straighten the cloth, the doctor walked up to him and repeated the same line, _"_Look at her kid, that is what happens to them all in the end. They OD or die. Shame, she was a pretty girl."_

_The chorus of voices kept on echoing the deputy's words. Ron knew that he was in a nightmare except he did not remember falling asleep._

_Someone shook him._

"Ronnie, you just blanked out on me." Vee snarled.

"I don't want to lose you, Vee."

Vee just shook her head.

"Ronnie, I don't ever want to look at you moping or drifting off ever again. I am not dead yet so don't act like I am! We have at least four years. I want you to remember our time together fondly. We all got to die sa...someday. I want to know when I go that you remember everything good. I want you to remember the time we bit your mom in the legs. I want to remember the time we first did it. I want you to remember all the pranks and rackets we pulled. Now I am cold and..."

Ronnie was starting to take off his jacket.

"Not that way. When your girlfriend or loved one tells you they are cold, they want to be hugged. Now I'm cold."

Ronnie embraced his best friend.

"Much better. However, I think that it's going to be too cold tonight. I think that it going to be cold for at least the next four years, understand."

Ronnie Possible smiled when he mentally translated the message.

"Now open your mouth."

Vee stuffed a big chunk of her burrito into Ronnie's open mouth. She then broke it off so some stuck out.

She attacked his mouth and got some of the burrito from his mouth.

"Another memory of breaking all the rules of decency. I have an idea. Tonight we are going to work on a 'to-do' list...Everything we like to do together in the next four years. It can be naughty or nice, but it has to be things that we do together and Ronnie..."

"What..."

"No threesomes. I know your male mind Ron. Sha...sharing was something I failed in kindergarten and I am not beginning now. Let me begin, I want us to play in the mud like we were younger. I want to twirl around in circles until we get so dizzy we can sta...stand up anymore. I want us to eat sna...snails like we did in Pre-K. I want to hawk sna...snort off a bridge and into the convertibles like we did went we were eight."

"What about eating the whole pie and leave the pie pan in the fridge?"

"Good idea, what about you lick that pie off of my body!"

Ronnie and Vee use one of the crayons from the Kid's meal to writing their list on the paper napkins.

"Remember if we write it we must do it...don't even thing of writing down eat each other's boogers."

"Got it Vee. We will eat each other's boogers."

"Hand me the crayon. What about I make you come to class in a dress?"

"Only on Halloween."

"Then you are wearing a ballet outfit with the pink tutu!"

Ronne took another crayon.

"What about going to a nude beach?"

"Okay, but if you only agree to pretend to be flaming gay to all the guys."

"Only if you kiss another girl."

"Only if you kiss another guy."

The list was growing and if any of the 'rent saw it, both the kids would be locked up in the nearest psych ward.

There were a wad of napkins and the gleam of madness in the eyes. Ronnie was scared of some the ideas, but he would do anything to get Vee's mind off her dark future...even if he required him to wear a ballet outfit and dance in front of the school, pretend to be gayer than the Village People, and kiss another guy. He would do anything for his best friend.

"Oh yes, one more thing. We got to bring my camera when we do this. I want photos."

Now Ronnie was really scared.


	44. Founding a Dynasty

**Moving Onwards **

**Building the Posibeev-Romanov Dynasty **

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

_Amur Oblast, Siberia, Russia _

8,000 kilometers east of Moscow and 45 kilometers southeast of Zeya on the banks of the Zeya river, the village of St. Theodore of Studium. Although the communists changed the name, the locals held unto the name. Like St. Petersburg, the inhabitants returned back to the old name at the end of the Soviet regime. Founded on November 11, 1825, it was just a small village until gold was found in the mountains nearby in 2013. From a population of less than 50, it swelled over 800 as the mining concern brought in workers to prepared laying the infrastructure to support the mine.

On paper, there were eight police officers to keep order in this town. In reality, the town only had five men to keep the peace.

Ivan Akat'evich Belz, called Fiyanggu to the Manchu and Chinese, was the biggest man in this part of Russia. Over two meters tall and one hundred fifty kilograms of bone and lean muscle...it was a miracle considering that he was the youngest son of a Manchu mother, more akin to the Chinese rather than the Russians, and a diminutive Russian-Jew exiled to Siberia in the closing years of the Cold War.

A veteran of the Russian Federation's latest campaign in Chechnya, Ivan had earned a reputation as a brawler and mountain fighter. The Chechens had put a $3,000 price on his head and many have tried to collect to only be cut down by his modified (for more rapid and sustained fire) 7.62x54mm R _Pynemet Kalashinova_ (PK) machine gun.

However, it was not the Chechens that ended his military career. It was the combination of a Russian mortar round and a sergeant fresh out of sergeant school. Unlike the West, most Russian junior NCOs' are simply conscripts who are selected and sent to school for six months before becoming an instant sergeant. Ivan's sergeant could not read a map properly and called in a mortar strike on his own position instead of a Chechen rebel camp.

After dealing with the Chechens, Ivan dealt with his sergeant by adding lead to the sergeant's diet. Unfortunately the sergeant did not get to enjoy the wonders of lead poisoning as the stream of lead was administered at a muzzle velocity of 825 meters per second and a cyclic rate of 1,000-rounds per minute. Belz immediately limped his way into the wilderness and made his way into this corner of Siberia to avoid being put in front of a firing squad.

To compound his problem, Belz immediately stumbled upon a local girl and nine months later got the _three for one special_. Being a deserter meant that he could not get a job, so when the boss offered him a government position, albeit under two names, Belz took it. He was at the stage that he would take anything, just so his diminutive Chinese wife, now pregnant again, would not beat the hell out of him for being unemployed.

Now he was waiting at the station for his wife to finish shopping in the local market place.

Alexsei Alekseevich Olenkhna was perhaps the most paranoid man in Russia. He also had anger management issues.

Unlike Belz who resembled a Eurasian version of an NFL center, Alexsei reinforced the stereotypical, tiny Russian-Jew down to the hooked nose and round spectacles. He was exactly 160-centimeters in height and was 52-kilograms in weight. He was a small boned and looked as delicate as a bird. His trademark was the sad, brown eyes that were the male version of the puppy dog pout, except that it was not a deliberate action.

Alexsei's life started falling apart when he was dock worker. He got drunk one night and found himself in a Russian jail for the attempted murder of a bar patron. The army combed the prisons and he agreed to become a contract soldier to get out of prison. He found himself a twenty-eight year old trapped with teens who did not regularly shave their face yet and never meet a Jew in their lives. Yet they automatically despised him for being Jewish.

Jews were never liked in Russia. If it was not for Hitler's Nazi Germany, the Russians would have clinched the number one spot for the European regime historically most hostile toward Jews. Alexsei's company commander decided to experiment with a concept he read in a US Navy Seal memoir by J. Watson.

_Put the most experienced man on point so you find them before they find you_.

Unfortunately, everyone in Alexsei's squad with the exception of the sergeant when through basic training together. There was no experienced, yet expendable private. Thus the officer decided to nominate the Jew to be the point man all the time. The lieutenant figured that since Alexsei was the oldest and Jews are already paranoid, that Private Olenkhna was already half trained.

In four years as a contract soldier, Alexsei had been shot six times, ran over by an SUV, stepped a landmine which he then had to figure out how to get off without setting it off, and been stabbed twice. He did his duty and every time he returned back to barracks, he hit a stash of homemade distilled spirits that he and his squad mates brewed and got fall down drunk.

It was one of those episodes where he got the regimental commander's seventeen year-old daughter pregnant.

The regimental commander hated Jews, naturally took an affront of having a Jew for a son in law, and transferred him along with the now pregnant daughter to the most remote corner in Russia to be discharged so that the rumors would not fly. Fortunately for Alexsei, the doctor told him that he was getting only got one kid out of that pregnancy.

Alexsei had three troubling habits. He tended to shoot if anything spooked him. Worse yet was his tendency to question everything. Alexsei was an incessant worrier who insisted on triple checking everything and then complained that things were messed up. And he immediately erupted into violence if anyone called him a tiny Jew.

His redeeming qualities. Loyalty to those that earned it, a never give up attitude, and the ability to distill just about any plant into something that people would pay good money to drink. When Alexsei was not working as a cop, he was brewing the next great alcoholic beverage.

Vladimir Sabin Kohl grew up in this village. With three of his four great grandfathers being German infantrymen captured after Stalingrad, Kohl looked like a German and spoke German exactly like his great grandfather. Ethnic Germans were on the Russian shit list just below the Jews who were on the top of the list. So Kohl was given the most dangerous job in the Russian army. He became a combat engineer and was tasked with defusing Chechen booby traps and improvised explosive devices.

The problem with Kohl was that he was just nuts.

The other two had their issues, but Kohl would be the star patient in any psych ward.

The strain of defusing the devices one time too often under fire snapped his sanity. He started sitting out in his underwear with explosives preparing welcoming gifts for the Chechens all while giggling uncontrollably.

It started when his best friend was killed by a remotely triggered improvised explosive device. It was a can of coffee that turned out to have nails and a length of chain wrapped around a cylinder of plastic explosive. The Chechens booby trapped anything and everything.

Kohl decided to return the favor.

His favorite kid's toys were the _Anastasia 'Boom-Boom' Dolls_ and _exploding FIFA soccer balls_. His favorite gifts for adults were exploding _humanitarian ration cases_, zero-second fused hand grenades, and the exploding round that turned the bolt into a projectile that would fly into the shooter's eye and kill the shooter. The only difference between the kid's and adult's gifts were the kid's gifts were intended to take off a hand or foot. The adults were intended to kill.

Now known among the Russian Forces as _Saint Vladimir the Toymaker_, he was living his ultimate dream until some foreign human rights activists ratted him out to the international community. The Russians simply appropriated his ideas and immediately sent him back home to the most remote corner of Russia. There he was discharged and told in no uncertain terms not to be seen anywhere west of the Ural Mountains. The mines hired him as an explosive's expert, but the work was too boring.

The boss hire him because Vladimir was a kindred spirit when it came to explosives, albeit more deranged that the boss ever was.

The youngest of the lot was Gregory Alekseevich Zhukov.

The sixteen year old local orphan was given a job by the new local police commander when he was tossed out the orphanage for lack of funds. It was a pity post and everyone knew it except for Gregory who believed that he was really a cop. No one trusted the kid with any real weapons so the boss issued him special weapons. Special...Special because the firing pins were filed down so it would never strike the primer. Gregory Alekseevich was the office mascot.

The village was remarkably diverse. Being close to the Chinese border, Chinese, Manchus, Russians, and other ethnic peoples all did business in the markets, worked the mine, and drank Alexsei's liquor at the local watering hole. Rubbles, Euros, Yuan and even US dollar were all used

Spring came in fits in this place. It was still cold and there was still snow in the mountains. Sane men stay indoors as much as possible while the women were out in the local market.

Unlike other policemen in Russia, these cops did not hit up the local market for a donation or free merchandise. The boss had certain rules and the rules were simple.

_You don't shit on your own brick. If you break that rule, I will sort your sorry asses myself._

Basically no crime was tolerated inside the village.

All four men knew they were dependent on the boss and were extremely loyal.

The door opened and the boss's wife entered with her very pregnant belly leading the way. In an immediate Palovian response, the men stood up. Gregory ran forward to grab the package out of the lady's arms.

"Thank you, Gregory Alekseevich."

"You are welcome, Misses Posibeev."

Belz opened the door to the boss's office and announced, "Misses Posibeev, boss."

She thanked the big man and entered the room. Belz closed the door.

"What are they talking about?" Gregory asked.

Alexsei took the question, "If the boss wants us to know, he will tell us. Otherwise what goes on between a man and a wife should stay between them. Wise men don't interfere."

"But..."

"No buts. Ask any married man and they will tell you that the three things they are most afraid of are their wives, their mothers, and their mothers in laws."

"Why?"

"Trust me, Gregory Alekseevich. When you make the same mistake that Ivan Akat'evich and I made...you will learn just how scary females can be. I was scared of the colonel when I knocked up Olga. However he had nothing on my mother in law. I swear that when they found out about Olga and I...They could hear my mother in law and Olga screaming it out all the way in Moscow.

"The only thing worse is the classic questions they use to mess with our heads. In five thousand years, no man ever found the right answer to their questions."

"How?"

"Do I look fat in this dress? Do you notice anything different about me? Do I look fat? Anything you say is wrong and you will find yourself your own best friend until she takes pity on you so you two can play the game again."

"At least you have a wife and get to have..."

The three married men laughed.

"You are stuck in a very deep vagina of your own illusions. I hear a joke from a sailor when I was a dock worker in St. Petersburg. A father is telling his young teenage son about rubbers and why you should use them.

"Son, as you are in secondary school, you will need to keep a three pack. One for Friday. One for Saturday. One for Sunday.

"If you go to college, you will need a six pack. Two for Friday. Two for Saturday. Two for Sunday.

"The son then asks his father about how many he bought.

"A twelve pack, my son.

"You mean four times a day.

"Nope. One for January. One for February. One for March. That's why you use a rubber."

Now the married men were really laughing.

"Sorry to say Gregory...that man was an optimist. Don't make our mistakes. Marriage is a young man's mistake and an old man's comfort. Who are you looking at now?"

"Anastasia Radikevna Kerensky."

"My advice is to enjoy rolling in the hay. However, her cousin Lena is much better for you when it's time to pick a wife."

"But Lena is just six months old!"

"In twenty years, do you want to wake up to something that looks like Anastasia's mother and yells like that too? That's how long you should wait. Boy, when you look at a girl...look at her mother. That's what you are going to wake up next to in twenty years. I don't even know why I am warning you. You will make the same mistake when some girl finally lets you stick your five-centimeter sorry excuse for a penis up her slit. You will grunt, enjoy the moment, and find yourself engaged. She will keep you in bliss until the wedding and then it's too late. Everyone here has been caught except for Vladimir and you. He is the only one that stands a chance as he is already married to things that go boom."

Vladimir went crossed eyed and giggled like a little girl.

"I am working on my greatest creation. I call her Niki and Niki's going to be a naughty, nasty little whore."

Vladimir held up a small little package.

The other three stood up and grab their coats. It was time to make the midday patrol around the village. The only time Vladimir giggled was when he was playing with explosives.

* * *

"Honey, my back aches, my feet are swollen, and the baby is kicking my bladder. That is it...no more sex after the baby is born," Marie said with a smile on her face. 

Tim never got use to his wife's moods. Sometimes she is crying and irritable. Other times she was puckish and impish. He hoped that she would stay in that mood.

"So what did grandpa say?"

Grandpa was term for the old man who served as the village doctor.

"The baby had dropped...Any day now. I will be so happy when this is over. No more swollen feet or back pain. Now I now why women smile after labor. It's not the baby...it's saying goodbye to being a waddling, crazy monster."

"But...you know that you are not getting any sleep."

"Don't even go there. You might be the American James Bond. However unlike the movies, there is no next woman. You have to stay home and learn to change diapers. I will handle the feeding and burping. And yes, no more rooting for you."

Tim shook his head.

"I know your weakness."

"What weakness? We mothers are strong willed. I said it, so there!"

Tim leaned over kissed his wife and touched her bum.

"You do play dirty, you nasty bugger. But I am strong. It comes with being a mom."

Tim touched her down there.

"You win. I will let you have one more. After that no more..."

Tim nibbled on her ear.

"Okay, you win. As soon as we can, we will give our child a little brother or sister to boss around."

Tim shook his head.

"You haven't even the first one and yet you are already planning the next. Just how many do you plan to have."

"As many as you give me, Timofey, as many as you give me. I expect that you will have to add extra rooms to the cabin soon."

There was a closet sized room with a small bed and dresser attached to the office of the police commander's convenience.

Marie kissed him as she stepped out of her coveralls.

"Damn you for knocking me up, Tim. Now you created a monster."

"Monster?" Tim asked.

Marie replied in her best limey English, "Before I meet you...you randy apeth (pet name for a silly person), I was pure. Now look at me. I don't Adam and Eve (believe) that you seriously think that I will let you pull me again after nine months of this crap. Your kid is only beating seven shades of shit out of my bladder and making me fatter than than a hag with multiple chins and bingo wings (Fat folds of flesh on an overweight woman)."

Tim smiled, "What about all the other times?"

Marie gave up.

"Now I'm all preggars and I still have not learned just how effective your sticky wicket is at knocking unsuspecting short-heeled birds like me up. I am randy as hell...I must be nuts. You're giving me the Bruce Lees (hard nipples)"

Tim kissed his wife as they undressed.

Two hours later, Marie looked over at her sleeping husband wondering just how she ended up married to this American spy. In many ways, Timofey was like her father. Stubborn, loving, loyal, intelligent, and a touch driven. Also Tim had cute ears like her father did. Her mother once told Marie that she married daddy because his ears were so nibbly. If she knew her in-laws, it would only confirm her theory that nibbly ears were a woman's ultimate weakness.

Marie gave into temptation and nibbled on her husband's ears for the thousand time since her marriaged.

_Definitely nibbly! _

Tim groaned.

"Five more minutes, mom. Wake up Jim."

The one chink in his cover was that when she tried to wake Timofey up, he would complain in English.

Marie laid back and enjoyed the body heat radiating off her sleepy husband.

Ten minutes later Marie felt a contraction. Twice she underwent false labor and so she thought nothing of it until a gush of liquid wet her legs.

"Tim, wake up!"

Tim snapped up.

"Get grandpa now! The baby's coming."

Tim started to walk out the door naked.

"Of course it's coming. You only gave me your tummy banana how many times?"

Another contraction hit and Marie grind her teeth.

Tim was walking to the door in the buff.

"Wait. Put your clothes back on first. I don't want to give the other ladies any ideas about borrowing my husband."

"Yes mommy."

Marie laughed.

* * *

Ronnie and Vee walked into Ronnie's home fearing the worst. 

Both Ronnie and Vee knew that Miss Possible would get drunk on her rare weekends off. It was as much a part of their lives as Vee's addiction...Something never to be mentioned. Ronnie looked at Vee and slowly opened the door so not to alert his mother to his presence. Twice he saw his mother walk around the house with only her top and no bottoms. He knew that he spent the first nine months of his existence before popping out of there, but no sane son wanted to see what his father hit on nine months before he was born.

Ronnie peeked inside hoping that his mom was already so smashed that she _hopefully_ collapsed in her room. Otherwise, he would need Vee's help to get her upstairs again. He planed on getting in, unplugging the phone, getting a change of clothes for school tomorrow, and get out before he would have to witness his mother staggering drunk. Vee would then hide his clothes in her gym bag. They would eat some of Tita 'Berta's homemade Asian food at Vee's house. Then Ronnie would walk home and then crawl back through Vee's window to spend the night sharing the mattress with Vee.

It was a custom from the days before the pair crossed the line into lovers. Even when they became lovers, Vee's bed was a sanctuary. For some reason, the two never done the deed on her bed...Maybe it was to hold unto some part of their childhood as they made the transitions to adulthood.

Tonight, the custom came to an abrupt halt.

His mother was dressed and sober.

There were two guests. One was Vee's foster mother Tita 'Berta. The second was some Asian lady.

And all three looked like they were expecting him to show up.

"Ronnie, where is Vee?" his mother asked.

No...the 'rent's were waiting for the both of them.

_Crap...Did they find Vee's pills? _

"It's time to have the talk with the two of you."

Ronnie and Vee looked at one another. They knew they were both in trouble.

* * *

Fifteen hours later, the four policemen watched as their commander walked out stunned. 

Belz took his boss and made him seat with his head between his knees.

"It happened to me too. It's nothing to be ashamed of. How many?"

However the boss was too dazed to understand.

Gregory was about to walk inside to help.

"Stop. Unless you are a doctor or called on to help, no man should be inside. It's not a place for men. I rather be in Chechnya facing a camp of rebel scum with no ammo than to be inside that room right now. It's bloodier than a battlefield right now."

A cry could be heard.

"Boss, relax and breathe. Things are going well. I can hear the baby crying."

"I'm a..."

"No you are not. When Ling's water broke, I panicked. I ran across the village in my underwear to get the doctor. You at least did not run around in your underwear. Ling never will let me forget that. She shared that sorry with ever woman she meets. Wait for doctor to clean things up and help your wife get settled. Your wife will call for you when it's time. Enjoy the moment, dad."

Ten minutes later, the doctor walked out with a bloody apron.

"Go inside, Timofey. Your family is waiting for you. Your wife is exhausted. Giving birth was a strain and she will require lots of bed rest to recover. You have to help her for a while. She can't be up all night so do what you can to make sure she rests."

Tim staggered in.

* * *

Violetta stared at the photo of her father. 

Black hair, brown eyes, and fair skin. Even in a police uniform, Hirotaka Yamanouchi looked just like every other Japanese male. There was not deformity...no sign that hinted at the monster he became.

Now Violetta had a face and name to associate with the father that she hated.

Hirotaka Yamanouchi killed her as surely as he killed her mother. This was the man who addicted her mother to Red Crystal and knocked a little girl up. It was because of him that Violetta Lee was born addicted to the drug and ensured that she would not have a future.

Other kids her age...you asked one of them what they plan to be when they grew up and they will give you an answer. For Violetta, there was no future. She was addicted to a drug that will either kill her via an overdose or would kill her when she would try to quit when she was eighteen.

Her stutter, her status as the trashcan baby in elementary, the fact that she can't even dream of a life with her boyfriend after high school was all that man's fault.

Violetta wondered why she had to be the one to suffer. She wondered why she had to have a demon for a father. She flexed her hands in anger.

Hirotaka Yamanouchi would beg for death if she ever got her hands on him.

"Vee, please...hatred and murder are not going to change a thing."

Vee shook her head.

"His death will mean that no one else will have to go through what my mother and I went through. No more families mourning, wondering what happened to their little girls. I will pray that daddy gets his just desserts every night. Keep the photo, Miss Yamaguchi. I will never forget that face and what he did even if I live to be a thousand years old and gaga like Misses Kennedy."

Misses Kennedy was the old lady how lived on the corner and had Alzheimers.

Violetta Lee went upstairs to take the medications that stripped away her dignity and her future.

* * *

Yori looked on as the girl walked up the stairs. 

There was so much hatred and pain that Yori did not need a shrink to tell her that Violetta was not ready to be reunited with her grandfather. Yori childish infatuation had destroyed another generation.

_If you did not moan Ron's name, Hirotaka would not have gone over. He would have not raped a young girl and leave behind a daughter who hates herself as much as she hates her father._

_A pebble in the pond had spawned a tsunami_.

Yori remember what her mother had taught her over thirty years ago about karma.

One, action is happening, not an illusion.

Two, you are responsible for your actions.

Three, actions have results.

Yori remember the ancient Buddhist texts.

_According to the seed that's sown, _

_So is the fruit you reap there from, _

_Doer of good will gather good, _

_Doer of evil, evil reaps, _

_Down is the seed and thou shalt taste the fruit thereof. _

Fifteen years ago, she gave herself to Hirotaka when she still was mourning Ron. She remembered the icy silence after she moaned Ron's name in passion. Hirotaka loved her and she destroyed him. He was tortured and was broken, because he had nothing to live for...nothing to hang unto when someone hacked off his limb. She helped turn Hirotaka into a parody of a man.

The worst part for Yori was looking at the video of the little girl that Hirotaka impregnated. The little girl resembled her when she was ten. Hirotaka and her use to be like Ron and Kim...best friends. He kissed her for the first time in the cherry orchid when the blossoms fell. They made a little kid's oath to be boyfriend-girlfriend when they were older. To her it was just a little kid thing. Now she knew that he was serious.

She remembered the confrontation she had with Hirotaka in the warehouse.

_The laugh was all too familiar. _

_Rolling to a standing position, her sight confirmed her suspicions. It was the last face that she ever wanted to see. It was the man who spirit she broke with a careless whisper all those years ago. _

_Richard was emptying his magazine at the sword wielding _oyabun(Yakuza godfather) _as Yori looked on in shock. _

_The _oyabun_ walked up and hit Richard with the flat of his blade knocking him out. _

_"I would have given him a slow death and a fast trip to hell." _

_The _oyabun_ turned around and faced the young ninja. _

_"Consider your lover's life a present from me, bitch. He won't ever have to risk his life to save an ungrateful bitch named Yori Suzuki. You were a slut. You loved that Ron Stoppable guy and you fucked the two of us. I see that you chose your stud service well. Too bad for you that fate ensured that you lost our child...The ones who gave me this godlike power ensure that I knew. One more thing to break me...They sought to use me. __I let them until I was in position to use them." _

_He flicked the sword causing the blood to fling off and exposing the white steel to its next victim. _

_"You have yourself to thank for me being here. You made me a monster. You freed me from the rules that make us conform and hide our true feelings. You made me a god. At least you started me on the path. I can not be killed. Not even I can end my existence. However, I have a message for the old man. In due time, all will bow to the new god. I have to hurt the both of you now. It's for your own good. I wanted to hurt you. I practiced and carve out the last bit of humanity out of my own soul. I have devoured the souls of the innocent because of you. However, some part of me demands that I let you live. Maybe it's so I can break your spirit, maybe it's a lingering weakness. However I must obey the voices in my soul." _

_Yori was paralyzed with guilt and fear as Hirotaka slashed Richard's Achilles tendon. She wanted to fight but something stopped her from killing her former friend and lover. She waited for him to hurt her; she wanted him to end her sorry state of existence. _

_Hirotaka walked up calmly and removed her pistol and baton from her non responsive hands. With a flick of the sword, Yori's right hand was no longer a part of her body. He then merely walked away and Yori fell into darkness. _

Normally Yori would shake off the memory. However one of the lines had to be shared.

"I have to hurt the both of you now. It's for your own good. I wanted to hurt you. I practiced and carve out the last bit of humanity out of my own soul. I have devoured the souls of the innocent because of you. However, some part of me demands that I let you live. Maybe it's so I can break your spirit, maybe it's a lingering weakness. However I must obey the voices in my soul."

Kim Possible and Dr. Sanchez were looking at Yori as if she grew an extra head.

"Where the hell did that come from?" asked Kim.

"Those were the word I heard from Hirotaka's lips. Richard and I were tracking down the new Yakuza _oyabun_. My informants told me that he would be at a major drug deal. Global Justice...Dr. Director was following developments in the Japanese underworld. There was an invisible war and some oyabun disappeared. All we knew is that a new oyabun, one whose power is in the West, became the first among equals among the oyabun of Japan. Richard had just come in from the FBI and I was brought in from the Japanese police to find out who this oyabun was.

"We raided the meeting. Eight assault teams. Forty eight of us were in on the raid. Only Richard and I survived. As few of us where killed by the others in the raid, but most were killed by Hirotaka. They emptied entire magazines at him and he still managed to cut them down with a katana. Those were the words he said to me after he cut Richard's tendons and before he took my hand.

"I could have killed him. I had the perfect sight picture on his face. I had killed criminals before, but I could not pull the trigger once I saw that it was him..."

Kim's hostility disappeared.

"Yori, when Drakken escaped...I failed to pull the trigger. Ron was hit and reaching for his weapon. However Drakken just kicked the rifle away from Ron and took Ron's pistol. He placed the pistol under Ron's armpit and pulled the trigger twice. He walked up towards me. Ron had given me his backup pistol. His face was only three feet from the muzzle. All I had to do was pull the trigger.

"I did not. Drakken called me weak and emptied the magazine. Three rounds hit me giving me these scars on my face and neck. He took a spare magazine and put the muzzle under the vest and fired twice. Then he kicked me down the stairs where I had to watch Ron choke on his own blood before I past out.

"If I stopped him, he would not have got his hands on Violetta's mother. She would not have to suffer and die. Yori, Hirotaka and Drakken worked together. Find one and we can find the other."

"So where do we look?"

Kim shook her head.

"Wade and my brothers are dead. I know everything is linked to Ron's death. I don't even have a clue. Drakken is not on his string of crazy take over schemes. He is invisible. Hirotaka does not just undergo a living dissection and instantly becomes a yakuza boss without allies and resources. Yori, can you repeat what you said?"

"I have to hurt the both of you now. It's for your own good. I wanted to hurt you. I practiced and carve out the last bit of humanity out of my own soul. I have devoured the souls of the innocent because of you. However, some part of me demands that I let you live. Maybe it's so I can break your spirit, maybe it's a lingering weakness. However I must obey the voices in my soul."

Yori repeated, "I have to hurt the both of you now. It's for..."

"Yori, that's it."

Dr. Sanchez took over.

"I will bet that he is following someone's commands. 'I have to hurt the both of you now.' Someone told him to render you harmless. Because of his obsession with you, he could not, but he could not disobey his superiors. That's the one that is holding him back from claiming Vee."

"Where do we find Drakken?"

Two teal-eyed figures stepped inside the house. The young male was tall and bulky like an NFL linebacker. The older female was a walking skeleton.

"Miss Perfect, You will find that small-dicked scum in Liszt Industries. He is only the CEO and President of Liszt Industries...Mr. Theodore Liszt. And legally he is untouchable."

* * *

Violetta eyed the inhaler warily. 

Inside was the substance that messed up everything in her life.

Inside was the substance that prevented her from having any hope of a future.

She would have to take two puffs of the inhaler. It would then take away her dignity. She would soon be laughing like a crazed lunatic and find herself sitting in her own piss and shit.

Violetta closed her eyes wondering why she had to have the monster for a father.

Everything was so confused and mess up.

Violetta just wanted things to end. She wanted to be free...except the only way she ever could be free is death.

Suicide...she had thought about it. She had contemplated and worked out various methods. However in the end, suicide was not an option.

_Why did I have to be Catholic?_

Despite her numerous pranks and scheme, there was a helping of Catholic guilt inside the young teenager.

Ronnie got his guilt genetically.

His Irish-Catholic mother who had lived the past 15 years in one big guilt trip and raise him Catholic. Toss in Jewish grandparents who reinforced Ronnie's father Jewish guilt genes one to two weekends per month, Ronnie was cursed with guilt and was use to some part of his conscience lashing out at him all the time.

Violetta got her guilt trip from her foster mother. First she was spoon feed the guilt trip every Sunday at mass. During Lent, more guilt would be feed to her along with the fish. Toss in a foster mom who is a head shrink...Violetta did not stand a chance.

Violetta had Delayed Catholic Guilt Syndrome. She would do the crime, enjoy it, wait a while, suffered the guilt trip, and the repeat the whole cycle to enjoy the guilt in a masochistic manner. However, the guilt would sometimes kick in before the crime.

Thoughts about suicide would always start the guilt express. If she was honest and someone said the term suicide, Vee would immediately picture Ronnie ending up a drunk like his mother and her foster mother falling apart at the funeral for not spotting the warning signs. It was these thoughts that had repeatedly prevented her from ending everything.

_Why did they have to accept a fuck up bitch like me in their lives? _

Violetta wondered why God had given her the illusion of life.

Unlike 99.98-percent of Red Crystal babies, she did not suffer the extensive brain damage that the others did. They would die within a year. However, she was given brains and talent as if she did have a future. Violetta knew the odd and knew that in the end God favored the odds.

The longer one took the drugs, the more likely one is to die from the withdrawal. If you used more than a couple months, your chances of survival will increase exponentially. Users under six months had a 40-percent chance of living. Users just under a year had only a 24-percent change of living. A Department of Health website had calculated her chances as one millionth of a percent...not even one in million...when she would be allowed to try to be free.

Because her addiction, she could not go many places or be allowed to do many things the other kids took for granted. She could not play on the school team or go to the Olympics because it was banned. She could not travel by air since pressurized inhalers were not allowed in the cabin and she could not risk depending on the airlines to not lose her luggage. She could not risk getting pregnant otherwise her child would be a Red Crystal baby and be forced at best to live with the life forced upon her. She could not even pretend in a happily ever after, because she only had four years, four months and twelve days left to live.

She remembered her first assignment for English class at the beginning of the year. Write a five paragraph paper about what she expected to do when she grew up. She knew that if she wrote the truth, her teacher would send her to the school counselor and everyone would know just how fucked up she was. So Vee lied and wrote that she wanted to be a video game designer. She got her A. Later that afternoon, she burned the paper so no one else would read the pack of lies.

It was not the first time an assignment ruined everything. Misses Bloom's second grade family tree assignment taught her that she would never be good enough to have a family. It was her fate to be a freak and when it was time to seek freedom, it would cost Vee her life.

Vee whispered, "Damn you," and put the inhaler into her mouth.

One minute later, she was laughing hysterically at her misfortunes.

Twenty minutes later, she was sobbing as she turned on the shower to clean herself off.

* * *

It was amazing that something so small could generate so much shit and piss in its first diaper filling. 

Svetlana Timofeyenva Posibeev was a complete human being in a very small package. Ten tiny fingers and toes. She also had voice that has no shame shrieking for food or a diaper change.

Svetlana had her mother's blond hair and green eyes like her aunt and grandfather. Right now, Svetlana was latched upon to her mother's breast greedily drinking as much breast milk as possible.

"Warm your hands before touching her, Timofey. Poor thing...I know you did not want to come out of your warm hideaway, but you were getting too big to stay inside. Momma gonna burp you and let you rest a bit."

Tim was just staring at his little girl.

"Warm your hands. It's time that Svetlana knows who her daddy is. Just support the head and hold her close to your chest. I will be back in a few minutes."

"What if I?"

Marie shook her head.

"You won't drop her. You are already cursed with Daddy's Little Princess Syndrome."

Tim did not even hear Marie's comment. He warmed his hands and cradled his daughter. Svetlana opened her eyes and then closed them again. Tim wondered how this new life was going to turn out.

_The godfather daddy and the banker mommy_.

Tim imagined martial arts in the morning, then breakfast before her class in racketeering. Then firearms and explosives, then lunch followed by money laundering 101. Dinner will be eaten as Svetlana telling him about the establishment of shell corporations and her stock market manipulation experiment. She will be describing how she crashed the New York Stock Exchange, cash in on options as pensions and 401K-retirement accounts across America go south.

"Please tell me you are not going to be that bad."

The newest member of the Posibeev clan opened her mouth as if she was yawning.

_It could be worse. She could grow up and shack up with a guy just like you. _

Tim remembered his father's threats to Ron to shoot him up into a black hole if something happened to Kim. However that did not work. Ron still managed to knock up his sister. However the thought brought something into Tim's mind.

Tim had a Ph.D. in Engineering from his old life. There was a surplus of talent in Russia and Tim had decades of experimental experience with computers, small engines, several of his father's classified rocket fuels, and most importantly guidance systems. Although the systems Tim once played with were now a couple generations old and not perfect for cutting edge space and military work, they, with a little work, might be good enough to transport sensitive cargo or even serve as a weapons platform for small arms.

A new father holding his little princess started working on his next contribution to a device that would ensure that no one would hunt him down and take his wife and little princess away. With the right assassin bot...the _vors_ (Russian mob bosses) would be too busy fighting each other out to look for Marie and his daughter.

No one was going to take away his little princess, Svetlana. If some boy got too close to his little girl, Tim vowed to see what it would take to crush the boy still living body into diamonds.

What he did not know was that he was designing a weapon that would establish a dynasty...one bloody brick at a time.


	45. Dealing with Father

**Moving Onwards **

**Dealing with the Father **

**By Pat Squared **

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**Warning: **

**Fail to review, **

**and Wade will send an assassin-bot after you! **

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Global Justice Agent Justine "Just Kill Them All" Keller Payne had only been an active field agent for the past eleven months when she earned her nickname and her reputation as a terminator, the term for a Global Justice agent who had used deadly force on the job.

Global Justice tried to bring in suspects alive to face justice, but there were situations were the immediate application of deadly force was more than justified. Justine's first assignment was working undercover as a mercenary for a drug lord in Columbia when someone blew her cover and she had to shoot her way out of an ambush killing three men and sending two more to the hospital.

It was not the last time she got involved in a fire fight. Twice more she was involved in incidents where the use of lethal force was necessary to protect the lives of agents, innocent civilians, or the community from the grave threat that the suspects posed. After five years in the field, she was eligible to take the examination for Special Agent and was eagerly waiting for the results. Passing meant a fifteen percent increase in her base pay and allowances plus a desk job.

Six years in the Marine Corps as an intelligence specialist and four years as a Global Justice agent, and motherhood had left its marks on her body. Stab wounds, bullet scars, and stretch marks all marred her body, but men still hounded her.

Now her daughter, Constance, was going on and on about some boy that embarrassed her at the synagogue get-together. Normally girls would not share the kind of talk with their mothers that Constance was sharing with her, but as far Constance and the world knew, Justine was her sister. Justice remembered getting pregnant at fourteen and giving birth at fifteen. The reasons, order of events, and the father's identity were secrets only known to her and Constance's father.

"Connie, if the boy already got a girl, just let him go. Chasing after a boy because he is loyal to another will not make you a winner. Trust me, there are plenty of other boys out there."

"Sorry, sis. If you see what grandma tries to hook me up with, Ronnie Possible is an Adonis."

"You're just fourteen. You have four more years before you are even legally old enough to marry let alone ready to have kids."

"Then why don't you have kids or a man yet."

_Because I had to raise you. _

"Connie, I date and enjoy the company of men, but there is no man good enough for me to hitch myself to."

Justine hoped that Connie will remain ignorant for just a little while longer. Playing to role of older sister made guiding a hormonally active teen away from premarital sex much easier.

"But haven't you..."

_The best way to lie is to tell a portion of the truth and then lie about the rest. I don't want Connie boy chasing yet. _

"I have, Connie. When I was your age, I went to a party. There was this boy who did the same thing to me that this Ron did to you. Since I did not want to be a _loser_, I planed on getting him and then breaking his heart. It was stupid. I did not need some pimple face twit to validate myself, but mom was...who she was. Anger confused me and I could not back off."

Connie knew about Justine's mother's heroin habit and career as a prostitute.

"Simple plan. However, he got me smashed, and woke up naked with a bunch of other boys and girls. I had so many plans that got scraped that morning. It was one of those orgy parties. I got pregnant and could not identify the father. I had to give my baby away. It still hurts that I can't be a mother to my child. That boy was a bastard who preyed on dumb girls like me..."

Connie looked on her biological mother in surprise, although she still believed that Justine was just her older sister.

"I didn't know."

Justine shook her head, "Why should you? Grandma Payne sent me away to some place to give birth and arranged for my child to go to a loving home. My child was born the same time you were. Mom died after you were born so I guess that you became in a way my child. God knows that Grandma made me change all your diapers and feed you at two in the morning. In a way, you became my own child little sister, but don't even think of calling me mommy. I have not yet hit the big three zero. Just promise me that you won't end up like me. The only reason I am sharing this with you is that you don't waste your life chasing after some asshole. Just don't tell grandma I told you."

"'Kay sis. So what do you think I should do?"

"Tell me. You will soon be all grown up and have boys drooling all over you. I will have to pull out my shotgun and threaten all your boyfriends to have you home on time and no mischief."

"No mischief? Are you going to shoot them?"

"Nope. I will just tell grandma about your flying lessons. You know how she wants you to grow up and be the suburban housewife."

"That dirty...even for you."

"Glad to hear that I am not slowing down any."

Justine's cell phone rang.

"Yes...okay...I will be there in an hour."

"Connie, you are coming with me. It won't take very long."

"Okay mom..."

It was difficult for Justine to pretend not to hear the comment. It was even harder to not sob or tear up.

* * *

"It that our child?"

Will's eyes motioned to the girl sitting in the waiting room reading _Seventeen_.

"Yes... Constance doesn't know and I would like to let her keep some part of her childhood for a while, Will. She's only fourteen and doesn't know about us."

"Okay, I will respect your wishes. Unless I am told otherwise, you will be the one to clue in our daughter when you think she is ready for the truth. I got some good news. You aced your promotion interview and the day after tomorrow we will make the official announcements...I had nothing to do with it. The board was impressed and you aced the exam. I however am making you my driver for the next two years."

In Global Justice, there were several misnomers. A driver did drive his or her boss around and serve as a runner.

Like a military aide-de-camp, the driver would make the boss's day easier. However the position of being a driver was not meant to be a convenience to the boss, but instead give the driver an education on the inner workings of the organization. Will had served as Dr. Director's driver for two years before being promoted to Senior Special Agent and being the number two in the Washington D.C. field office. Most of the field commanders and Deputy Directors were at one time drivers for their predecessors.

Being Will's driver meant that she was being groomed for a career at Global Justice.

"Justine, there are no strings...at least in the bedroom sense. However the Project wants you in place to succeed me. In two weeks, we both will conduct surprise inspections of our outposts. During which, we will slip away and meet with the Light Bringer himself."

Justine turned pale. Meetings were rarely held and only then for serious reasons.

Justine had twice met with the Light Bringer. Six times, she met with an omega. Will was an alpha and she was a sigma assigned to work with him. Betas and gamma's were rank and file Project members. Initiates were just those just brought into the project. And pi's were those who were in the Project, but did not know the project existed. Connie would be classified as a pi.

"What is it?"

"I cannot say. Signs are good and things are on schedule. All I know is that I am to bring you and train you to succeed me. Soon you will be the coordinator of perhaps one of the key parts of the project."

Justine examined Will's eyes for signs of lying, but there was no deception. Reading body language was a skill that law enforcement officers masters on the streets and Justine was just as good as any. Will was and always be a headquarters puke. He never spent enough field time to acquire the people reading skills that Justine did.

Justine was thirteen when she found out about the project. Her biological father initiated her both in the project and the bedroom. He had taught her the truth that many betas and gammas would never hear. The Project was more than breeding supermen and eventually taking over the world. Will for all his power and position as an alpha did not know what she knew.

_That would be his downfall. _

Will was ruthless, ambitious, and driven. Will was Connie's biological father. However, he was not the desired end state of the project. At best he would end up an omega like his father, but he would never be allowed the top spot. Unless a miracle happened, Will would never be allowed to become the Light Bringer. He was too driven to know when to walk away from a challenge and just endure. This she heard from her father's lips. Her biological father was the Light Bringer himself.

* * *

Between the seventh and eleventh grades, Kim Possible had encountered many enemies and rivals. Drakken, Shego, Duff, Monkey Fist, Adrian Lynn, Jack Hench, and Doctor Dementor were terrible foes, but none were as cunning as Bonnie Rockwaller when it came to psychological manipulation.

To Kim Possible, Bonnie Rockwaller seemingly had it all back in high school.

Bonnie had plenty of talent, dedication, and an instinctive sense of knowing just how to hurt Kim. The youngest daughter of Craig Rockwaller, the richest man in Middleton, Colorado, she seemingly had everything until she got pregnant. The scandal worsened as she ran away from home six months pregnant.

Tara Strong, Bonnie's only remaining friend, refused to tell anyone what happened and soon went to southern California to go to college. In due time, Kim found out that Bonnie had a son, got a law degree, and became the Vice President of Special Projects at Liszt Industries, second to only Theodore Liszt. She knew from the Wall Street Journal that Bonnie recently resigned her position due to personal circumstances but did not expect to see a walking skeleton in her living room.

"I hope you enjoy this, Miss Perfect. You finally beat me. I'm dying and stuck having to crawl back to Middleton to beg you for help. I'm officially surrendering to my nemesis."

"Mom," the young man interrupted.

"Don't but mom me, young man. You might be the fastest linebacker in college football and run the forty in four flat, but I still can whop you plenty good like when you were six and decided to set the living room rug on fire."

"I guess I should introduce you to my son. Robert Roger Rockwaller, this is Kimberly Anne Possible."

Kim stood and shook hands out of habit. The young man's grip was firm, but he did not try to crush her hands like other strong man instinctively sought to do.

"Have a seat."

The young man led his mother to the chair and sat her down. He then ran outside and came back with a thick blanket.

"Sorry, but mom has a hard time staying warm."

After fussing with it, only then did he sit down.

"Kim, I have many things to share and not much time to do it. I can only hold off the dead relatives for so long. I suggest that you get a detective and a recording device. But don't get one from Middleton PD. My asshole father bought that department lock, stock, and barrel decades ago."

"But..."

"No buts Kim. Nineteen years ago, I ran to them for help.

"My father's been molesting me since second grade and I could not live anymore with myself. I went to them for help. Instead of collecting evidence, the special victims unit sent back home to daddy. He gave them a _donation_ and then he had my sisters hold me down until he knocked me up. He owns the all the key cops. Commissioners, the Chief, Deputy Chiefs, Homicide, Detectives Bureau, Special Victims, Organized Crime, Internal Affairs, and most importantly... the personnel who handle the promotional interviews. No one makes it past corporal or detective unless my father has dirt on them. Even the investigators for the Colorado State Attorney General's office, at least the ones from the Tri-city area get a second paycheck from daddy."

Kim could not believe what Bonnie was telling her. One of the departments that Kim Possible routinely worked with was corrupted. The independent investigators that her office depended on for sensitive investigations were also compromised. No man can corrupt all the cops. Bonnie apparently read the doubt in her face.

"Think Kim. Where do the all the Middleton PD brass go when they retire? I will tell you...they go to six figure jobs in Rockwaller General Services. What happens if my father and uncle are arrested? Rockwaller General Services shuts down. The town loses one third of its tax base and a quarter of the town is immediately unemployed. Who donates so generously to politicians on both sides of the aisle in local, county, and state...My old man. Your boss got sixty thousand from my father for his last reelection campaign...The governor got a hundred fifty. You need to find someone who doesn't give a shit about losing a potential mid-six figure position and pissing off the city fathers."

"Kim, I will get Lori Zimmer."

"Who is she?" Bonnie asked.

" Colorado State Bureau of Investigation. She had been in similar circumstances and has the tenacity of a pitbull. She is in charge of the MID-Killer case and loves to do nothing more than send child molesters to general population."

"Thank you Miss..."

"Doctor Sanchez. Psychologist. I will need to speak to you about what happened. Men like your father don't quit molesting girls and I will need to know what to expect when we stop him."

"He will attempt to buy his way out..."

"Not that...He is abusing other girls right now. I need something to help me so I can help those girls...your sisters and nieces. You survived and triumphed over your past...they will need help to sort things out."

"My sisters were the ones that held me down so he can rape me on my eighth birthday. As for my nieces...I never meet them as I was the first to get knocked up. I managed to run away when I was four months along. However, there is an eighth birthday tradition. All the girls get raped and will spend the next couple weeks being raped until they accept that they are nothing more than seminal sewers."

Bonnie's eye went distant.

"You learn that you are nothing...that all you are is an ass, mouth, and cunt. Once you are broken, they share you with other highly placed molesters. There were so many, I can't recall all their faces. No one used their names, but still I knew some of them. All I knew was that when I was not Bonnie, I was Bon-Bon because they loved eating me like bon-bons and because my father and uncle would tie me up in a red ribbon before passing me around...bondage. Even today...when people call me Bon-Bon...it brings back all the pain. Now you know why I lashed out at Ron in the beginning...He called me Bon-Bon in the one place I could be safe...the one place where I was a person instead of a commodity."

Bonnie turned her head to face her son.

"Robert be a dear and bring in the suitcases with the red tags from the car."

The change in Bonnie's tone would be humorous if the subject matter were not so serious. When dealing with her son, Bonnie sounded like a dotting mother. When dealing with Kim, there was a certain gamesmanship.

"Kim, I hereby surrender to you my files and my diary. I, a member of the bar of California, Maryland, New Jersey, New York, Virginia, and District of Columbia, do knowingly wave my constitutional rights against self incrimination. In it should be enough to help you take down my father and maybe show you a way to take down Drakken."

Kim looked at Bonnie. Bonnie was so resigned and defeated. Yet she played her final card like she had the royal flush.

_No wonder why she hated me. I went off to save the world and yet I did not save her._

"I'm sorry, Bonnie."

"Don't waste your words. Just take both the assholes down and make sure my son doesn't get splattered by the shit...that's all I ask."

"Does he know?"

Kim looked at Bonnie's son as he entered with the first two suitcases.

Teal eyes locked into green.

"I know, Miss Possible. Mom has already overstayed her time. Auntie Tara and the other doctors told us that she would already be dead by last Christmas. If I have to get splattered by shit...do it."

"Don't Kim. Robert is all I have. Losing him is like you losing your son. Robert is the only family I have left. He was the only reason I did not kill myself all those years ago. I will give you everything I know. Tara has me dying in a private hospice. If I am still alive after the questioning...I will head back to California to die. After my funeral, an investigation will conclude that Robert, apparently distraught, committed suicide by jumping off a bridge. His body will never be found. I used my contacts to get him an alternate identity. All I ask is that you place Robert Rodgers in a place where no one would know who he is. It will be hard since he is the star rookie linebacker for USC, but in a couple years everyone will forget him as a person and he will be just another sport trivia question remembered only by sports casters. Then he can live his own life untainted by what I did."

Dr. Sanchez looked up from her cell phone.

"I got a text message. Lori will be here in five minutes."

"Good."

Bonne closed her eyes, "I'm tired, Robert. Wake me up when the officer is here.

* * *

Ronnie and Vee were waiting in his room. Vee was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling as Vee was sitting next to her. Vee was silent.

"Vee, what's wrong?"

Vee remained silent.

"Please stop the silent treatment. I rather have you pissed off and screaming rather than give me the silent treatment."

Vee grabbed Ronnie's shoulder and yanked him down to the bed.

"I'm cold."

Ronnie wrapped his arms around his best friend slash girl friend.

"Better. Much better. I apologize for being...whatever you call it. You would think that I would be use to this emotional shi...shit by now." Vee gulped, "I mean mom's been only dead since I was born. Sha...She is in a place were no one can hurt her anymore. I waited for the day that they find out who he is. I wanted him to sa...suffer like mom did. I ought to be happy. He is going to be ratted out and everyone in the world is going to be hunting him down."

Vee took in a deep breath.

"It's not going to change a damned thing. They can tie him down to an electric chair and throw the lever, but nothing is going to bring her back. Nothing is going to make up for all the crap he did. I still will be addicted to that crap and the only way out...Fuck it. Be careful next week."

Vee was on the verge of losing it.

"Why?"

Vee remained silent for a minute.

"It's a girl thing...you don't want to know. If I start ripping on everything, stay away and let me work it out, otherwise I will end up sa...saying things that don't compute."

Vee tightened her grip on Ronnie. She then sat up and forced a smile on her face.

"The 'rents are too busy talking to barge in."

Vee reached into her bag and pulled out one of the napkins the pair used to write the list.

"Eat pie off each others body...no pie...no...no video camera...no...no paint...there...that looks good."

"What is it?"

"You wrote this one Ronnie. If you can't remember...let me refresh your memory."

Vee's green eyes locked into his. It was like staring into a shiny, brilliant emerald.

"Do you trust me, Ronnie?"

"Yes Vee."

"Okay Ronnie, kept your eyes locked unto mine. No blinking. Now imagine we are at the lake. Imagine the ripples of the waters and the gritty earth under your feet. As each ripple rolls in, I want you to count. With each number you feel more relaxed. With each number you feel more connected to your body. The warm earth comfortably supports your like a warm fuzzy blanket. Now count them out to me until you are totally relaxed."

Ronnie remembered writing hypnotism on the list, but he wanted to see Vee be the one to go under. However his objective thoughts vanished as he blanked out.

He did not recall the exact number when he stopped counting.

"Here is a special place where your fears cannot harm you. You are safe here. All you have to do is to be honest and share your desires and fears with me."

Ronnie found himself unable to stop his mouth. He confessed to kissing Jen. He confessed to his sexual thoughts about the girls on the ranch. He confessed many things he wanted to keep secret.

"Now what are your greatest fears?"

"Seeing you get hurt...dying. That you will find another boy to like. That you will hate me."

Vee smiled.

"When I tell you to wake up, you will find yourself relaxed. You will remember that I love you and that nothing can divide us. You will be more independent of your mother. With every act, you will find yourself more independent...more decisive. You will not worry about being perfect...you never had to be perfect for me Ron Possible. You will remember that I love you...you si...silly boy. And yes...you will find yourself lasting longer with each time we lay together. You will find yourself more comfortable around girls. You will remember this moment. You will remember that I love you even you made out with Cousin Jen and all the cute girls in the world.

"Now demonstrate just how much you love me. When you wake up, you will find your staff at attention and a crazy, naughty, little girl who is waiting for action. Wake up."

Ron found himself with a woody.

"Christ, you hypnotized me."

"You wrote hypnotism down. You just did not write down who does who. I obliged. Now you have two choices. Ravage me or take me gently...your choice."

Vee was hurting. Saying no would only be a rejection. Ronnie chose to be delicate.

Twenty exhausting minutes later, Ronnie wondered why Vee chose him to be her boyfriend. When changing for PE, the other boys constantly rated her among the top three of their fantasy girl list. Talk about a boost in social standing. Vee could have her pick among the eighth grade boys and yet she chose him to be her lover. When he found himself confessing to his thoughts...he thought it would be over. Instead it only seemed to excite her.

He asked her why.

"You picked me, Ronnie. You could have half the girls in class if you just faked more confidence. Girls talk in the locker room and they ask me about us. Trust me girls talked and I couldn't let your rep down."

Ronnie turned pail.

_No wonder why all the girls start giggling when they see me. _

"What exactly did you say?"

"No complaints. Then I just left myself drift off for a couple seconds until they try to bring me back to the real world."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You will never understand. Girls have a channel two. I just used it to let them know we are an item and to respect our privacy. It's time to change the channel."

Vee kissed him.

"How did you learn to hypnotize people?"

"A book I read when you were at the ranch. I always wanted to try it, but I had no one else to practice on. The hard part is having the other person trust you. Once that happens, it's too easy. When you went under, I knew that you really trusted me. Next time, you get to put me under. Just don't make me bark like a dog or quack like a duck in public. Now let's get cleaned up and go back to bed before the 'rents start asking questions."

The two teen raced to the shower.

* * *

Kim Possible listened as Bonnie gave enough evidence to guarantee that the Colorado state chemist (executioner who performs lethal injections) would be gainfully employed for decades to come.

The problem was that Drakken now sat on a Presidential pardon as did Bonnie. There was no way the courts could nullify that especially since Bonnie confessed to using not having to resort to blackmail. Former President Williams, a Democrat, was caught literally selling pardons to mob bosses by the FBI, impeached, and removed from office, but the courts said that his pardons were still in force.

Before Williams, the Possible were loyal, lifelong Democrats. After Williams, the family started voting Republican. Now after hearing this news, there was no way a Possible would ever consider voting for a Democrat. If it was not for the law that prohibited civil service employees from endorsing candidates, Kim would be on every television endorsing republicans.

Kim could see no legal way to strike at Drakken. On the Rockwaller front, there was more than enough evidence to convene a grand jury. It would be at least three months before the true bill of indictment is released, but if the investigation holds...Bonnie's father and uncle would be spending the rest of their short lives dodging harden killers in general population.

The problem was where to hide Robert.

It was not just a matter of finding some small town in the boondocks. Robert would need a place where he could safely deal with everything and come to terms with his mother's death.

Kim picked up the telephone and dialed a 406 area code, the area code for Missouri River Country in the northeast of Montana.

Five minutes later Kim put down the phone.

"Robert, did you ever want to be a cowboy?"

For the change to see his biological father dodging honest convicts in prison, Robert would willingly shovel shit for the rest of his days.

* * *

Master Sensei examined the email that Yori sent to him.

He hesitantly opened the attached photos.

_So many lost years._

He could never hate his son, but he could never forgive Hirotaka for so many years without a family. Master Sensei knew that his granddaughter would not want to be reunited with the father of the man who destroyed her mother's life.

What was even worse was the news that his granddaughter was inflicted with Red Crystal addiction. Master Sensei was old and if he died, he would not mind for he had led a full life. His granddaughter was trying to live a life in just the few short years she had left to enjoy. Yori report was short and blunt.

Master Sensei deleted the email, closed down his computer, and walked into the glade.

Generations of his ancestors had their ashes scatters amount the gardens. They had done their duty and ensure that the Yamanouchi Clan fought to preserve those who could not preserve themselves. They had watched over this village and protected their own for generations.

Now Master Sensei saw the end of his line. Betrayed by a son. Watching helplessly as his own grandchild was living the last years of her life.

Master Sensei placed a cloth on the stone. He breathed in and upon exhaling slammed down his right palm on the cloth.

_Merciful Buddha, what have I done in my past lives to have to live through this? I lost my son. Both my grandchildren are dead. You took one in the womb and now I have to watch as my last grandchild prepares herself for her death. I have failed my ancestors. I have failed my people. I have failed my family. Even now the woman I love is dying. I am being destroyed by duty and love._

Sepuku, the act of ritual disembowelment, could not hurt like the pain in his heart. Master Sensei pulled out his cell phone. He was going back to the United States. He had a woman and a granddaughter who needed him. Hiding from the pain would be much easier...but he had to confront the pain.

"Tenaka-san. It's Akira...I need a ticket to Middleton, Colorado...business class is all you have...okay. Thank you Tenaka-san for your kindness."

Master Sensei tossed his cell phone into the bushes. A hand caught it before it hit the ground.

"Father, it has been a long time since we last meet face to face."

Master Sensei knew that Buddha answered his prayers. He would die before his granddaughter.

"Grandfather die, father die, granddaughter die. May I be allowed to atone in the traditional way?"

"Turn around father."

On the ground was a _sanbo_ (unlacquered tray). A white kimono, _kuzuka_ (disemboweling blade - paper wrapped tanto), ink, brush, paper, and even warm sake and a cup.

"Thank you my son. May the most merciful Buddha grant you the same spirit when your daughter liberates your soul from your flesh. May you be my _kaishakunin_ (second)?"

"Father, you might call me evil, but I would be shamed if I let you commit _jumonji giri_ (disemboweling one's self without a second to end one's suffering)."

Master Sensei bowed towards his son. He changed into the white kimono. He dipped the brush into the ink and started composing his death poem.

_Cherry blossoms fall, _

_In my jar of pickled plums, _

_I shall smile once more. _

Hirotaka from the left poured the sake. In two drinks of two sips each, Master Sensei drank his last. He slid the kimono off his torso. He carefully tucked the arms under in the appropriate fashion. He could sense Hirotaka stepping into position.

"I hope you have as much honor when your daughter asks the same of you as you did of me."

Master Sensei slit himself three times before Hirotaka ended his father's suffering.

Hirotaka stole away into the afternoon. Even in death, his father defeated him. He had wanted the old man to cower. He had wanted the old man to fight him blade to blade one last time. No the old man chose to defeat him by dying...by committing _funshi_ (committing suicide to display contempt against an enemy that otherwise could not be harmed).

Killing his father did not free Hirotaka of the ties that bind lesser men. Hirotaka suppressed a tear.

_It was not suppose to be like this. I was supposed to be a god. By killing my father, I was supposed to kill my earthly attachments._

Hirotaka had killed his father and yet he was the one defeated.


	46. Positioning the Pieces

**Moving Onwards **

**Positioning the Pieces **

**By Pat Squared**

* * *

Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev watched as Marie simultaneously juggled the books and a newborn daughter. 

Despite a Ph.D. in Engineering, accounting made no sense to the police commander running this village. Tim could computer differential equations in his head all day but did not know the difference between an accounts receivable or an accounts payable. In his old life, he depended on Wade Load to handle his investments and a tax lawyer slash CPA to keep the Internal Revenue Service off his back.

Now Marie was talking to him in a foreign language. Russian was less confusing than her limey flavored English and that was less confusing than her use of accounting terms in the same. GAAP, FIFO, LIFO, DTI's, turnovers, cash velocity, quick ratios, and a host of other accounting babble made him begin to doubt himself.

_Anything is possible for a Possible. Anything except for figuring out how to balance our three sets of books._

Timofey wondered when Alexsei would finish brewing his latest batch of Ice Goddess. A sample of the pure stuff would clear out the sinuses. Maybe then things would make sense.

Svetlana, Tim's daughter, knew her priorities. The little infant was laying comfortably in a sling with her mouth firmly planted on one of her mother's nipples and sucking away.

He was about to head out to see what his three men and a boy are doing. Just before he finalized the thought, Marie interrupted.

"Honey, please be a dear and buy me some greens. Also, if you see some knickers, buy me some. Also tell grandfather that I will be over tonight. I will be making my legendary stew."

Grandfather was the old Soviet era torturer who now was the only doctor in town. He was the only person besides Tim's wife Marie who knew that Tim was not a Cossack. As for the legendary stew...Tim now grudgingly admitted that his wife's cooking was starting to grow on him.

_At least it's not as bad as Kim's. _

It was the first time in a long time since he thought about the family he left behind in the states. He thought of dad, mom, Kim, Ronnie, and even Jim and his boyfriend.

_They are better off without me. _

A year has passed since he left his old life behind. Tim had fallen into a deep pile of shit and came out smelling like roses. Kidnapping the only child of the Russian Interior Minister, the man who controlled all the cops in Russia, evading a nationwide manhunt, surviving a bear attack, and now with a family of his own...all added up to being overdrawn on his stores of luck.

There were times that he almost died and the thought of dying now scared him. Tim was not afraid of death per say. He had ripped away enough souls from living beings to be death's understudy. A year ago, he would welcome death with open arms. Today, he had something to live for. He was afraid of what his death would do to his family.

Tonight would be the last night he spent with his family at home. Tomorrow evening, he and two of his men would have to go out into the wilds and hunt down some smugglers. If the Russian mob found out just how week he was...they would investigate. They will find out about Marie and his daughter. They take everyone he loved away.

Tim put aside the dark thoughts. His wife had a heart condition and did not need any more stress. He instead walked up to his wife and nibbled her on the ear.

"You're a randy bugger. I just had one and now you want to put another bun in the oven...You know I can't say no to those nibbly ears of yours."

"You bet your sweet little bubble butt I am! Prepare to nibble ear tonight."

Tim kissed his wife and daughter and walked out of his office carefully closing the door. Gregory Alekseevich Zhukov stood up, ensured that his AKSU-74 carbine was hanging in its proper place, and took a position on his bosses left.

"Where to boss?"

"Just a quick look about and then I have to go shopping. The wife is cooking her stew tonight."

"Yes boss."

The young sixteen year old orphan always called Tim boss.

Gregory was booted out three years early because the orphanage did not have the funds to take care of him. Since he was the oldest, they figured that he would be able to get a job and survive unlike the younger kids. Gregory had worked odd jobs but now he was one of Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev's enforcers. Since Gregory was the youngest and untried, Timofey assigned him to be his personal bodyguard and aide. Timofey needed a sixteen year old bodyguard as much as the Queen of England needed another pound sterling. However, keeping Gregory here meant that he couldn't mess up elsewhere.

_The kid tries, Tim. He will die for you. You really can't ask for more. _

That was exactly the problem. The kid tries so hard that he messes up the simplest things. However, if he had to pick someone to protect the family...he would pick the kid over his three veterans. However, Tim wished that the kid would go on and do something else. However that was not an option. The kid could barely read and write. His English skills came from watching MTV. He didn't even speak literate Russian. Gregory spoke in the Russian-Mandarin Chinese hybrid that the locals used on both sides of the border. Tim put the kid on paperwork detail so that he could improve his skills in reading and writing standard Russian.

"Keep your finger off the trigger, Gregory Alekseevich. You stumble and the gun will go off. We can't afford for some innocent person to be killed. See where I keep my finger. The only time I touch my trigger is when I have the target in my sights. That way you are forced to aim and that will keep you alive.

"It's not how much lead you throw, it's all about where you throw it. That is why many city boys didn't make it out of Chechnya. They panicked. They melted their barrels and used up perfectly good ammo, but hit nothing. Then some old Chechan grandmother with an old bolt action Mosin-Nangant just calmly aims and puts one in between the running lights." Tim tapped the bridge of Gregory's nose with his index finger. "One less mouth for some grandmother to feed at Christmas time. Understand?"

"Yes boss."

Tim could almost swear that he heard Gregory's heals click. The boy was clearly awed by his mentor.

_God save us from well meaning idiots. Give Gregory Alekseevich some wisdom. _

"When we are done, I am running you through a familiarization course...the type I wished I had when I was not much older than you were. Your number one weapon is your spirit. Your number two weapon is your mind. Your number three is your body. Your last is whatever piece of equipment you are holding in your hands. Without the first three the last in nothing but a lump of inert metal. You will be bloody and sore...but in the end you will learn lessons...lessons that I learned by watching others die."

"Yes boss."

_At least he is enthusiastic about it now. I would hate to be him later tonight._

* * *

Vee hated mornings. 

If she had any experience with alcohol, save for the sip of communion wine, she would compare her morning symptoms to a hangover after a binge. Her body was condition to take her twice daily dose of Red Crystal at six o'clock.

Ronnie was snoring and Vee contemplated waking him up. To her, it didn't seem fair that he got to experience the joys of sleeping in while she had to race to the bathroom and undergo her ritual humiliation.

Vee staggered towards the restroom wondering what she would do if she could be normal just like everyone else.

_Damn it! _

Vee knew that she could not allow herself to even began thinking about being normal. There was not even an ice cube's chance in hell for her to escape her curse.

Vee massaged her temples in a futile effort to dispel her morning headaches.

She walked in and closed the door.

Ten minutes later, she was giggling like six year old being tickled attacked. Somehow she made it back into Ronnie's room.

"Wake up puffyhead!"

Ronnie only groaned.

Vee got the idea of jumping up and down on his bed.

Ronnie only curled up as the springs groaned in protest.

"Mom, it's not time yet...ten more minutes." he moaned.

Vee did not want to wait ten more minutes. So she jumped on him.

In doing so, she bumped her head on the wall, rebounded, and fell flat on the floor with a loud crash. Just in time to look up and notice that Vee wearing a short skimpy slip that left little to the imagination. The teenager was sprawled out on the floor giggling.

_I got to get her to calm down before mom walks in._

Ronnie woke up and dragged his girlfriend back into bed. He hugged her so she could not bounce away.

Twenty minutes later, he witnessed the crash. Vee was sobbing in his arms. Ronnie managed to walk Vee to the showers and slowly get her to feel human again.

The pair got dressed without a word and made it through their instant oatmeal without muttering a sound. Ronnie could not stand it anymore.

"Vee say something."

"sha...something. Fine I sa...said it. Are you happy?"

"Vee..."

"Vee, Vee, Vee...I am not some lunatic that has to be humored. I am not going to wake up, flay you, wear a Ronnie Possible su...suit, and enjoy your liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti. If you keep repeating my name you will wear it out. Now let's get to Catholic guilt brainwashing central before the brothers give us detention for being late...again."

Despite her protests, Violetta Lee was reserved for the rest of the trip.

Ronnie overheard the girls on the bus snicker that Vee was breaking up with him and were starting to take bets over how it would be before they start tearing at each other's throats.

Vee grabbed him and kissed him. However her mind was clearly not on the kiss. Her mind was someplace and Ronnie knew that someplace was not a pretty place.

* * *

At that time, Justine examined herself in the mirror. 

There was so much to be done. She had to act surprised when they announce her promotion and new job. She would then have to call a realtor, get a mortgage, and get Constance put in a decent school. Justine examined the room that was her on and off home since Constance was born. The mattress was dead and everything else was on its way to the Salvation Army store.

_Lots of overtime in your future. I just hope that Constance understands._

Justine finished putting on her clothes. Everything was perfect. Conservative without being frigid old maid. Now it was time to wake up her little girl.

Constance was a nightmare in the morning. At five the little girl would wake up with a smile. At fourteen, this little girl woke up with threats of doom and hair that would shock both Don King and Frankenstein's bride.

"Wake up frumpy head. It's six and a school day."

"Go or I rip your arm off and shove it."

That passed as a minor threat.

"Connie, we got a lot to do. I need your help. I got the promotion. We are moving to Middleton."

Connie shot up, "Moving...where to?"

"Middleton. I have already called your school and told them that I am having you transferred out. You are coming with me to work. I pulled some strings and got you a pass so you don't have to wait around."

"Cool sis...does that mean I get to pick the color of my room."

"As long as you help me paint the house on the weekends."

Justine knew that soon she would have to tell Constance the truth. At that point, Constance would hate her. However, for now Justine would enjoy the time she had with her daughter.

* * *

Kim Possible, Bonnie Rockwaller, Robert Rockwaller, Roberta Sanchez, Yori Yamaguichi and Lori Zimmer were working on the plan when Yori received a phone call. 

"Mushi mushi."

Yori's face went pale. Yori started off snapping in machine gun speed Japanese. The conversation ended with a, "Hai!"

"Hirotaka has stuck. Master Sensei committed _funshi._ I must return back to Japan and I must ask you to entrust his granddaughter and your son to me for a short time."

"_Funshi_...what is that?" asked Kim.

"Unless you're Japanese...not even my husband would understand. Kim to defeat Hirotaka, Master Sensei had to sacrifice himself in the traditional manner. He bought us some time. How much, I cannot say. If Hirotaka holds onto the old traditions, he would grant us the morning period. If not, he can strike any second. What is worse is that Hirotaka deliberately chose the contemplation glade?"

Kim looked at the Japanese. Kim knew the glade was so sacred that only those who were of the Yamanouchi clan were allowed within its boundaries on the pain of death. Ron was allowed inside as he was one of Master Sensei's students, but Kim was not.

"I would invite you, but Lori and Roberta will need your help on this investigation. I have certain resources but they will be spent attacking Hirotaka's Japanese associates. Kim Possible, as the thirty-seventh head of the Yamanouchi Ninja Clan, I promise you that we will not cease the hunt until Hirotaka and Drakken atones for thier crimes.

"We don't have passports for the kids. Also Vee's a foster kid...she can't get one."

"Okay. Let me make a few phone calls. Go after the Rockwallers. I will arrange for the squeeze on Hirotaka. Then once we get rid of Drakken's errand boy, we will pay him a visit."

"But we can't legally..."

" Kim, US presidential pardons only are valid within the United States. He had broken several Japanese laws. If he mysteriously appears in Japan and is arrested what can the US do...protest. Trust me contracting for murder and subverting a government official is life in a one by two meter cell and plenty of physical rehabilitation the Japanese way."

* * *

Senior Sergeant Henry Richard Groningen, Go City Robbery/Homicide Bureau, hated April Fool's Day. This April Fool's day was even worse...it fell on a full moon. Not only did all the nuts come out of the woodwork...It was his little sister's birthday. 

He was out in the early morning processing a shooting.

It was an open and shut case of some crack-head robbing the wrong liquor store. When the crack-head stuck a gun in the old lady's face...her son grabbed a shotgun from the back and ventilated the crack-head's brains all over the lottery machine, cigarettes, and high priced spirits. Everything was caught on videotape.

Still, because the son was a reserve police officer, the act required a full investigation by the Ethical Standards Enforcement Unit (ESEU - Go City PD's name for its Internal Affairs Unit) assisted by a senior homicide investigator had to dot the I's and cross the T's. The worse part was this all happened three blocks away from Sergeant Groningen's home.

The formerly upper middle class neighborhood was rapidly spiraling downwards towards the gutter.

It was six in the morning when the mandated interview was over. The dweeb from ESEU obviously read too many conspiracy theories. He all but accused Officer Telesky of setting up a trap to ambush the crack head in relation for a graffiti attack on the liquor store two weeks ago.

_The perp fried his brain on rock...he could not paint a straight line let alone coordinate an intricate graffiti bomb._

To make things even worse, the crack-head was instantly hailed as a martyr by some self proclaimed civil rights leader as a prime example of police brutality and was crying cover up. They were calling for a special prosecutor and a lynching of the officer involved. That mean the media was covering this event 24/7.

All that ensured that his lieutenant and captain were riding his ass because the commissioners, chief, and mayor were riding their asses. It was an open and shut case of justifiable homicide, but because of politics, everyone had to go through the motions.

He had to wait for the crime lab and medical examiner to deliver their reports, before he could prepare his preliminary investigation reports.

It was three o'clock and Sergeant Groningen had been on the clock for twenty four hours straight. He drove over to Sacred Heart Academy to pick up his nine year-old daughters when school let out at three thirty.

The problem was that Stacy and Susan did not even show up for school. The bus driver picked them up at the stop and dropped them off at school.

Within minutes, the Go City Police Department and local FBI field office dropped everything else to locate Sergeant Henry Groningen's twins. The problem was that they were missing for over four hours.

Since the 1930's, the FBI had made kidnapping for ransom a virtually impossible act within the United States. Most kidnappings today were done by parents who lost child custody rights in bitter divorces or by sexual predators looking for prey. Since Sergeant Groningen was a widower, there was only one reason left.

Sergeant Groningen had worked over a dozen juvenile kidnappings by sexual predators. He knew that after four hours the odds of finding his daughters alive, let alone untouched, were rapidly approaching zero. Of fourteen such kidnappings, the authorities found only three victims alive.

Sergeant Groningen never felt so helpless. He was more that willing to take on any scum. However attacking his daughters...Sergeant Groningen wanted nothing more than his daughters back and the chance to go Hego on the sons a bitches that did this.

* * *

Justine Payne had gotten the loan pre-approval and signed the offer for 147 Able Lane. $60,000 down and a thirty year note at 6.135-percent for $340,000. That meant a mortgage payment of $2,068.08 every first of the month. With her housing allowance of $1,500, that meant she had to add an additional 568.08 every month. 

The worst part was the 147 Able Lane was a fixer upper and was about to be foreclosed by the bank. The houses in this exclusive neighborhood usually went for $600,000-plus. However for Justine Payne, this was the first place of her own.

Justine looked over the house one last time. There were several pluses. The house was solidly built, had copper repiping and electrical work done ten years ago and was up to code. However, there was a lot of work required to get the rest of the house back up to snuff. When the last occupants were getting thrown out, they smashed holes in the walls, gutted the kitchen and baths, and stripped everything out of the house.

"So Connie, welcome home."

"Do we move in now, sis?"

"Nope. Escrow won't close for two weeks. Then we got plenty of work to do before it's inhabitable. For now, we live in the no-tell motel."

"The one overlooking the city dump. Giant mutated cockroaches and all"

"That one..."

"Ohhhhh!"

"I could just leave you alone with grandma. Imagine all the knitting practice and manner lessons she can subject you to."

The teen put on the pout.

"I taught you that one. Nice try but your Jedi mind tricks don't work on me. Next week, you go back to school. I don't want cobwebs to grow inside your skull."

"Christ, you are sounding like a mother."

_Because I am your mother. _

"I changed enough of your diapers to earn the right. Now get in the car, I am going to find us a pizza place."

A dented minivan pulled into the driveway next door as Justine locked the door.

A red headed lady walked up.

"I am Kim Possible and you must be our new neighbors."

Constance did a double take. Even though the two ladies had different hair color, they could easily pass as sisters. They were exactly the same height and body structure.

"I am Justine Payne and this is my sister Constance. It's not official but it should be in a couple weeks."

"Mom..."

"You!" scream Constance.

"Crap," muttered the red-headed boy.

"I gathered these two already know each other. It makes is easier when you know someone." observed Kim.

Justine smiled, "I get got transferred to here and need to know what's what about here. First thing is were can we find pizza."

Both ladies were deliberately ignoring the looks of shock on their respective wards' faces.

"It's a long drive for any edible pizza. Come over and I will order. Call it a early house warming present. Ronnie get on the phone and order three meat lovers with extra meat and cheese."

"But mom...Vee and I are going to the movies."

"Nope...call Vee and invite her over here. You two are not sneaking out tonight."

The look on the boy's face was priceless.

* * *

Ronnie Possible was defeated. 

Vee and that Constance girl hit it off and both of them gave him the glare.

It was like they were both speaking in an alien language. They both were swapping gossip and an hour later they came to an agreement.

It was the hour of judgment for Ronnie Possible.

"Pretty cruel trick, Ronnie. But karma bit you on the ass. Connie and I forgive you but Connie still will get even. Prepare to be darn to heck."

"Darn to heck?"

"Ever read a Dilbert comic strip...when you mess up but it's not bad enough to get sent to hell, you get darn to heck. Tomorrow, you will sit next to drooling Eddie in the bus."

"But that's hell!"

Both girls simultaneously announced, "You just got darn to heck, Ronnie."

Ronnie looked on in shock.

"Jinx." Both girls said the word.

"Double Jinx."

It happened again.

"Triple Jinx. You owe me a soda." Connie announced as Vee was laughing hysterically.

Connie had done the impossible. She out jinxed Vee. Ronnie knew that he was in a whole world of hurt. Vee had him running ragged. With her new ally...he knew that he would have to endure being darned to heck for a very long time.

* * *

An email was sent. 

_Pieces in position. Prepared to initiate testing on schedule. Pi's 534, 535, and 541 will be examined thoroughly._

The Coordinator smiled as he sent off the message to the Light Bringer himself. One incident was a lot easier to arrange than three.


	47. Becoming

**Moving Onwards **

**Becoming**

**By Pat Squared **

* * *

Note the serious face,

Review, or I will pour melted

Cheese on you and tell Rufus that

You are a mucho grande sized order of nacos.

* * *

Violetta Lee was in school but her mind was not on factoring polynomials via synthetic division. Her left arm twitched and the mechanical pencil made the obligatory marks on the paper, but there was no conscious thought. 

Her mind replayed out the event of yesterday morning.

_How could I lose control of myself? Ronnie knows._

Everyday, Vee could feel her control...her grip on her mind being loosened. Last night, it happened again. For fourteen years, the drugs and her being wages what appeared to be a never ending battle. It illusion of the never ending battle was just that an illusion.

Vee now had to confront the fact that she was already starting to lose her battle with the poison that slowly destroyed her. She was losing control of her mind. Before she could maintain awareness and knew just how long to wait. Now, she was finding herself waking up out of her drug induced trances. Yesterday, she found herself in Ronnie's arms not recalling any of the things that he claimed she did. This morning she found herself about to jump off the top of the stairs. There was a point in Red Crystal addiction where one started blanking out. When one starts doing that, it would be soon before her body falls apart.

She did not have four years anymore. If she was lucky there might be two.

The instructor called time and she reflexively folded her exam and passed it forward. Vee was tired...too exhausted by a sleepless night and worry to resist the siren's call to close her eyes.

Vee gave into temptation and earned another detention when the teacher caught her snoring in the back.

After lunch it was worse. Despite the cold shower after PE, she could barely keep awake. English and history only made her most likely to nod off. Starting at 2:50 p.m., Vee normally kept an accurate 600 second countdown in her head and was ready to race out the second the bell rang. Today, she staggered to detention.

It was five o'clock when the teacher proctoring detention shook her awake so the teacher could go home. Ronnie was there and ended up carrying her home because she was far too tired to walk.

Somehow, Vee managed to take her medications and collapsed in her bed.

Vee was too tired to think...too tired to rant against the injustices of her short life. She had long ago accepted that the normal dreams and aspirations was not a part of her life.

Vee knew that she had to run her next scam before she lost her ability to think rationally.

* * *

"Vee, are you nuts?" asked her boyfriend. 

The young teen only smiled at her BFBT (Best Friend Boy Toy).

"This is..."

She gave him the quivering lip. He closed his eyes.

"I'm..."

She cut off his protest with a kiss. Not just any peek but a gentle lower lip sucking with the trembling action that any Hollywood casting director would seek in a leading lady. Then on impulse, she nipped him on the junction between the shoulder and the neck giving her boyfriend his first hicky.

Ronnie Possible was developing better armor to resist his girlfriend's psychological tricks. Violetta Lee, raised by perhaps one of the best head shrinks in the nation, had already developed a better warhead to smash that armor. In the forever-war between warhead and armor, the warhead inevitably wins.

"You win...again. When do you want it done?"

"Tomorrow."

This scam had crossed a line that Ronnie's _uncle, _Wade Load, would never think of crossing. Hacking for information was one thing. However, the two teen were going into a whole new realm that would spell out life sentences, at the very minimum, if they were caught. They were going to electronically rob the _bad guys_.

However, these two were young. The thought of consequences vanished with the kiss. Besides the money they were going to steal was not the type of money one boasted about. The victims are not the type to go the authorities.

* * *

Stacy and Susan Groningen were huddled in a very cold, dark room. The walls were metal. If anyone was foolish enough to touch the walls, that person would have to lose some skin to get away. 

There was a persistent hum eminating from about that the girls could not identify.

The events of yesterday were fuzzy. The pair had got off the school bus and were walking to the corner store near the school to buy some candy. The next moment they woke up in this room. Both girls awoke in nothing but paper hospital grown. Their heads were shaved and a bandage was tightly wrap around their heads.

It was difficult for either of the twins to concentrate.

Stacy, being the oldest by ten minutes and more adventurous of the pair, walked around the cold room looking for any way out. However there was no way out...no mechanism to open the doors. It was a cold room with a concrete floor, four metal walls, and a locked door. The ventilation ducts were too high...Too high even if one of the twins tried jumping off the other's shoulders.

The only thing the twins could do was to huddle together for what little warmth the pair could share.

* * *

Timofey Posibeev examined the impromptu party below. There were two dozen, heavily armed drug smugglers downing cheap Russian antifreeze in a futile effort to keep themselves warm. 

"Gregory Alekseevich, that is why you don't drink when you are working," whispered Timofey.

"What do we do?"

"Simple. We wait for them to get fall down drunk. Then we cuff them. If they resist, put two in the chest and one in the head to make sure. I am not carrying out the wounded."

"But what about the bodies?"

"The bears have to eat too."

Seventeen year old Gregory Alekseevich grimly nodded. The young man had turned pale at the thought of leaving the dead where they fell. Tim knew that the young man worshiped him...it was not time to shatter all his illusions.

"Kid, the world is not heroes or villains, but rather both. The only difference between a saint and a sinner is the cause for which they fight. Our great-grandfathers were just every bit as nasty as the fascist...yet because we won we call our great-grandfathers heroes. Hitler might whack six million Jews, but Stalin killed ten million Russians and Mao, just over the border, killed twenty million Chinese. And yet, they revere his corpse like a god. At least we don't grovel before Lenin's tomb and the alter of scientific socialism anymore. Ask Kohl about his feelings for the old regime...His great-grandfathers were German conscripts unlucky enough to be capture at Stalingrad. To him they were the heroes and our grandfathers are the villains. We all see ourselves as heroes, but if we don't face the truth that we are also villains, we become more twisted than the spine of an old grandmother.

"Enough philosophy kid. This is your first pinch. Remember the plan. Move quickly, but don't rush. Smooth is fast. Fast establishes domination. Domination prevents lead from flying. Lead don't fly and Mr. Murphy can't ensure that one of those pretty little lead slugs ends up in your gut so you die a slow painful death. I would kill for a little Kevlar right now."

"Kevlar?"

_Shit, I slipped. _

"Kevlar. The American police wear bulletproof vests made out of Kevlar so if they get shot, they live. The problem is that the police models don't stop rifle rounds. We move out in forty minutes. Remember what I am teaching you and one day...you will be the old grandfather passing these lessons unto your grandchildren."

_When I get back, I got to see if I can order some vests...Damn it Tim, you are suppose to be smarter than that. Blackhawk Industries, Galls, and US Cavalry are going to have an early Christmas this year. This will be the last raid we do on a shoestring._

Tim quickly calculated the value of the drugs that would be seized today. Even giving the local police regional commander his cut and turning half of the stuff in, there was more than enough to supply a score of police officers with the latest gear.

* * *

The plane from Middleton to Washington D.C. was half empty. Colorado Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Lori Zimmer took a window seat with no one else besides her. 

There were times that being crossed credentialed as a US Auxiliary Air Marshal could be both a blessing and a curse.

The airlines immediately upgraded her economy class tickets to business class so that she would by right by the cockpit. The cabin crew, informed that an air marshal is onboard immediately responded to her every whim. She did not have to risk putting her duty sidearm, a GLOCK 22, .40 S&W semiautomatic pistol, and her backup sidearm, a GLOCK 27 .40 S&W compact semiautomatic pistol, in the notoriously unreliable airline baggage system. The credentials also allowed her to enter federal buildings without having to do the whole routine of turning over her sidearm to some minimum wage contract rent-a-cop working building security.

However, there was a price to pay. Increase time on the range to maintain the high level of proficiency required by anyone shooting bad guys in the cramped confines of an airline cabin and not being able to sleep on the plane. Being an US Auxiliary Air Marshal meant that Lori would have to forgo three hours of sleep that she would otherwise enjoy. Having one slept three hours in the past forty eight only made the experience more hellish.

Lori declined the tired, limp sandwich the stewardess offered and placed her laptop on the tray table. She swiped her finger over the built in mouse pad and the notebook PC came to life.

Lori had done her thirty years in government service. Her mortgage was paid off. Her retirement, while not exactly the eight figure lifestyle like the folks at Ameriprise Financial Services, Met Life, or Morgan Stanley advertise on television, would not consist of living in a trailer park living off government food stamps either.

When she was a young agent, Lori had a romantic relationship with a young US Treasury agent who was making a killing on the market. Even thought the relationship broke up, Lori still remembered the lessons her former lover taught her about investing money. The secret was not rocket science...It was simple...play for the long haul...keep your cash working...and it's all about psychology, not economics...predict the trend and be there first to sell to all the suckers who are jumping on the bandwagon a little too late. Then start the next trend. Being single meant that she did not have to spend her money on kids and their education so she simply reinvested and had faithfully followed the financial advice work its magic. Her nest egg was comfortable. With her civil service pension and insurance, she would not be in the poor house if she retired.

Besides, she had a Masters Degree in Criminology. There were colleges that would be happy to hire her as a professor if she really needed the cash, or probably something to do besides playing bingo and getting fat like many old female cops.

Special Agent Lori Zimmer had handled many cases in her thirty year career in law enforcement and closed over 96-percent of her cases. However the information triple encrypted on her notebook PC was linking two, maybe three cases that had baffled her all these years.

She wanted to open the information now just to believe that the information that she just got was real. However she resisted the temptation. Even half-full, there was not enough privacy to risk anyone one else accidentally reading her files. On the laptop was the stuff that could topple governments. Instead she sent an email to an old pal to meet her at the airport. Then she immediately closed the laptop and removed the wireless card.

With a motion, Lori summoned the stewardess. Being an armed, auxiliary US air marshal, virtually guaranteed the royal treatment...staring with an immediate upgrade to business class because they want the self-proclaimed bitch with the gun right by the cockpit.

It was a title that her first arrestee gave her..._bitch with the gun_. Over thirty years, many other suspects gave her the same title. After thirty years putting the scum of the earth away and throwing away the key, Special Agent Lori Zimmer actually enjoyed the title and had a sign hanging on her office wall proclaiming the fact.

"Two cokes in the can, please. And get me something hot."

As the stewardess went into the area behind business class to get her order, Lori Zimmer wondered just how bad the fallout will be. Between the Rockwallers, the MID-Killer, and one fugitive name Andrew Lipsky who had dirt on every politician between Beijing and DC a lot of dirty laundry was going to be aired out.

Now that she had some of the How, Who, What, When, and Where, she had to find the Why. Having a why is sometimes the thing that separates life from capital punishment when it came down to the penalty phase and a jury on the cusp of making the life and death decision. Having put nine men and one woman on death row, Lori Zimmer knew the game. Also having a why allowed her to get inside the killer's head...get inside his decision cycle and maybe set him up for a fall. The Why is often more powerful that the Who or What when she would go on the stand.

Three cases...all connected. Closing these three cases will allow her to pull the plug on her career without feeling guilty that she quit too early. After all the politicians she would alienate, Lori knew that they would see fit to put her out to pasture. Once this all was over, she would simply retire and collect her monthly pension. Maybe write a book...not to cash in on her cases, but one to pass on her skills and knowledge to another generation of detectives investigating sex crimes and homicides.

* * *

Sixteen year old Police Private Gregory Alekseevich returned to consciousness and awoke to find himself being half-carried half-dragged down the hill between his commander Timofey Possibeev and Belz, the gigantic half Russian-Jew half-Manchu. Gregory's armed were draped over their shoulders and their arms were around his waist. 

"I'm okay," Gregory said as he futilely sought to put his feet back underneath him.

"Sure," replied Belz.

Gregory never felt so embarrassed in his life. He was dizzy and sweat soaked.

The pair lowered him gently to the ground so that the sixteen year old could sit.

"Put your head between your knees."

"Gregory Alekseevich, better do what he says. You fainted because the blood rushed out your head and left your brain."

The boss gently pushed his head downwards.

"I did that when I was fourteen. There was an accident on the road by my home. One of those tiny cars smashed into the bag of big trucks hauling pipes. The driver of the tiny car was decapitated. I walked up and found those blank eyes staring at me. I fainted in front of my brother and nearly cracked my skull. He dragged me home and never let me live it down."

The young teen's shirt felt calmly and was stuck to his sweet-soaked back.

"Your color is returning. You are lucky that you did not crack your head the way you fell. Don't worry kid...you did not collapse until you did your job. It was not your fault that the idiot decided not to surrender. Your actions convinced the others to give up without a gun fight. You killed your first man...if God is kind, it will be your last. Take a deep breath and keep forcing air back into your lungs. Only a small percentage of cops have ever had to pull the trigger. Many failed and die. You survived and triumphed. You are truly a man now...just remember to use a condom otherwise you will be a condemned man like the rest of us."

"Condemn, sir?"

"'Do I look fat in this? Do you notice anything new about me?' Females...sometimes I wonder if the fags have it easier than us. Just remember these four lines...I'm sorry...It's my fault...I love you...You're beautiful, and then kiss her. Remember those throse and you will avoid three quarters of the fights. Your relationship will be a hell of a lot less rocky. As for the 'Do I look fat in this?' question, the answer is 'Don't be silly.'"

"Don't be silly, sir?"

"If she's fat...it's don't be silly...I've already seen a dozen beached whales skinnier than you...just don't say the last part out loud unless you enjoy running away for the rest of your life or living without your little pal."

The cops were all laughing.

"Sir, what if she asks, 'Do you notice anything new about me?'"

"Modern man has been around for a hundred...a hundred fifty thousand years...and not a single man in that time ever managed to answer that question without getting into trouble. I tried the, 'You're beautiful' line and the kiss, but afterwards my wife still asks me the same question. If you ever figure out an answer that actually works...I beg of you to tell us. You will definitely win the Nobel Prize, the Order of the Red Banner, and Hero of Russia if you ever find out how to answer that one. It's time to march the prisoners back to town."

"How are we going to move..."

"They carried the stuff here...they can carried it back to town."

Gregory Alekseevich stood up, took a couple deep breaths, swapped out magazines for his AKSU-74, and got back to work supervising the prisoners. It was going to be a long walk back home with the family.

Gregory blinked.

As an orphan, he never had a home or family. The village authorities fed him and ensured that he had a roof and attended grade school while he was at the orphanage, but he never thought of having a family. Now that he was the youngest police office in Russia, he realized that he joined a family. While they were not related by blood, Timofey Ivanovich seemed to be like an older brother showing him the ways of the world. The other police officers might tease him mercilessly, but they would unite to smash any outsider who dared. Even Mrs. Posibeev would ensure that there was plenty of warm, if not badly cooked, food in the station.

Gregory did not know who sired him. His mother abandoned him as a baby. However, for the first time in his life, he truly felt as if he belonged to something special.

He smiled for a moment and then put on the war face that Timofey taught him. He marched up to the prisoners.

"Everyone pay attention. We are all walking back to town. Since you packed this poison in, you will pack it out. If anyone drops their load or mouths off or tries to run...you better hope that you run faster than I can shoot. I will be aiming for the legs and leave you for the bears and tigers to eat and later shit out. You will have to distribute your dead buddy's share between the lot of you."

The other police officers silently watched as Gregory Alekseevich got a bunch of twenty and thirty year-olds to start moving towards town. The kid did not seem so wet behind the ears anymore.

* * *

At 4:34 p.m. Mountain Standard Time, the Evil Siamese Twins committed their first federal offense. 

According to Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, as amended 3 October 1996, it was a federal offence to "...knowingly and with intent to defraud, accesses a protected computer without authorization, or exceeds authorized access, and by means of such conduct furthers the intended fraud and obtains anything of value." The potential penalty was ten years in the federal pen per occurrence and a fine of per occurrence plus whatever it the penalty was for robbing from a bank. That is if they were caught. However the pair, or more accurately Violetta Lee, took elaborate pains to avoid discovery.

Step one was the selection of the mark.

Rule one...the mark had to be dirty and this mark had so much dirty that Appalachian coal miners looked clean after a twelve hour shift.

Jimmy Ray Walker got started in the crack game in Detroit. As a young teen in the early 1980's, he was brought up from Arkansas to be a runner and later a dealer. He had learned the system and when the brothers who created the crack franchise system that literally _rocked_ the Motor City were arrested. Because Jimmy Ray Walker religiously followed what the Notorious BIG later dubbed the Crack Commandments, he simply took the money and vanished. Using the money, he finished high school and later went off to the University of Michigan where he majored in pre-law and eventually got his JD.

For five years, he was a narcotics officer raiding crack houses eventually rising to detective. He learned who was who in the local police, state, and federal agencies combating narcotics. He learned who were the players in the narcotics racket. Once he got his law degree, he went to work for the local district attorney as a prosecutor. He spent five years and got to know just how everyone operated.

Then he quit, opened up a law firm, and started organizing the local drug trade. Those that played by his rules and paid him his cut, in the form of a retainer to his firm, somehow started getting one up on the local narcs. Those that did not...he was not above planting some evidence. Mysteriously weapons that were used in a decades old homicide showed up in the uncooperative bastard's house just in time for the local police to stage a raid. For ten years, no one in law enforcement had any idea that the local druggie's number one defense attorney was the one calling the shots. Not one gram of cocaine or heroine moved in Colorado and Utah without Walker getting a cut.

Walker had escape more juries than any Teflon don. He was seemingly more untouchable than Carlo Gambino and some say have more brains than Tony "Joe Batters" Accardo, former boss of bosses of the Chicago Outfit.

Walker was not flashy.

Unlike many dealers, Walker was not flamboyant with his wealth. He did not drip jewelry or look anything more than what a moderately successful defense attorney was suppose to look like. He even drove a Toyota Camry instead of the BMW's and Mercedes that other attorneys drove. He did not live in a big house, but rather in a standard three bedroom house that was located on a cul de sac in one of those subdivisions. Even the legendary Kim Possible could not get him convicted because the jury was hung. No one can prove it, but some theorized that one junior...the holdout...was paid for via a winning lottery ticket.

The feds and locals tried, but Walker seemed legally bulletproof. He was a defense attorney so anything told to him by one of his lieutenants came under attorney client privilege. He never gave explicit orders and coached his underlings in terms of legal hypothetical's. He even arranged for some of his underlings to send their relatives to college so they can be tax lawyers and other professional that any thug seeking to look legit would need. He had entire narcotic units penetrated and the most of the dope, cash, and guns mysteriously vanished just before a raid. Once, the head of the DEA's number one snitch arrived in the federal building in a FedEx box minus the rest of the body.

However the locals and feds were sniffing around his bank accounts. It was an open secret that the IRS was gearing up for another tax audit. Vee had acquired the account numbers for Walker and several of his key associates. They had accounts spread over multiple banks. Hitting all the accounts was not a good way to stay invisible so the Evil Siamese Twins were watching the largest account...the account that funded the payroll of the entire law firm that Walker had established. Twice a month, there was a large movement of funds into the account.

Today, there was four hundred fifty thousand dollars. Tomorrow when the hundreds of employees of Walker's law firm would cash their checks the check will start bouncing.

The key was a certain program called EST061512102011. It was the skeleton key that would open any server with the exception of Liszt Industries latest servers.

Tomorrow morning, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and half a dozen other charities will receive three hundred fifty thousand dollars total. Fifty thousand will pay off bankers and lawyers overseas to move and launder the money where the US Treasure can't ask too many questions without the US Intelligence agencies shushing them up. The CIA and DEA needed its money laundered too. The take for the pair would be five grand each.

The last forty thousand will sit in a bank overseas to make interest and await the next addition...provided that trial one did not land the pair in jail. Right now, Violetta Lee was searching for her next _philanthropist._ Timing was tight. In three days, the pair had to fly to Japan.

Forty minutes later, the pair left the motel room where Vee had hidden the laptop PC that Ronald Possible used to rob the bank. It was one of those rent by the week places where cash was king and no questions were asked.

All the hotel clerk knew were the teens were holding hands and the male's face glowed as red as his hair when he registered as M/M Smith. It was not the first time that teenagers had rented a room so they had some place to get to know each other better away from the parents. The clerk would forget the faces as he had forgotten the faces of hundreds of other young teens who decided to make this motel the place where virginities were lost on a weekly basis.

Today, this young couple was no longer virgins to the world of crime.

* * *

Henry Groningen stare blankly at the pictures on his wall as his three brothers tried to figure what to do next. 

The FBI and local police raided every pimp, sex offender, and prostitute within a hundred mile radius looking for Stacy and Susan Groningen. Migo had snuck into the lair of every villain that Team Go locked up over the years, but nothing. Wego had multiplied faster than a pair of horny bunnies and had literally search every square inch of Go City. However, there was no trace.

Michael Groningen, Migo, was right now on Hego watch as one of the Wegos was reporting that the copies were finding nothing. There were no ransom demands...there never were.

With the Federal Kidnapping Act, otherwise known as the Lindbergh Law, the FBI had the legal jurisdiction where it was possible that the kidnappers took the victim across state lines. The FBI had aggressively pursued kidnappers and the logistic of trading hostages for cash without being caught was damn near impossible. Kidnapping had cease to be an illegal method to acquire money. Today kidnappings were done for two reasons. First, was to get custody of a child after a bitter divorce. Since Henry was a widower, custody was not a motive. The second was for a pedophile to acquire a victim.

Having worked as a police officer, Henry knew that the odds for finding his daughters alive were near zero. Most victims were killed within three or four hours. Migo knew better than to try to bullshit Henry.

Michael Groningen wondered why God had to curse his family. He had lost his parents to the comet that gave the family its powers. His sister reputedly committed suicide. Now his nieces were kidnapped, pawns for some pervert's delight.

* * *

The moon was high above the tips of the pine tree. 

Hirotaka Yamanouchi breathed in pine scented air. Burning hot needles pierce his flesh so that he could still feel. The price of immortality was that he was losing his ability to feel touch...to feel any emotion but rage and lust and emptiness.

He remembered the moment of the turning. He remembered dying and sealing himself for the judgment of the King of Hell. He remembered his life blood leaving his shell and mingling with the pore of the concrete beneath him as they impaled him on the meat hook.

_The cooler was chilly and yet the atmosphere was uncomfortably warm with the ripe promise of danger and death...his death. _

_Over the previous day they had worked on breaking his spirit. He had remained loyal to the old man's code of honor and refused to deviate from his cover identity. Even when they cut into his flesh, impaled him on a meat hook, and even raped him, he held unto his oaths. Even when his partner broke, he refused. He silently prayed to the goddess of infinite mercy to grant him release from the pain, but his tormentors knew their business. _

_Every step of the ritual was scripted by a demon who knew how to keep him awake. No amount of pain allowed him to pass out and momentarily seek release._

The former Japanese police officer closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the memories.

_Outside the traffic roared outside, climbing up the building, covering his weak whimpers of pain. They had cut into his flesh harvesting parts of him to sell. His eyes, one of his ears, his kidneys, one of his lungs...one by one they were deconstructing him. He could smell the cloyingly sweet acidic coppery scent of his life blood. _

_"Who are your informants, Yamanouchi-sama?" _

_The questioner, while using the highly formal style of Japanese that one would expect a tea master to use, managed to degrade him. Like seating an idiot at the head of a table. The idiot thinks he is getting honor, while everyone else knows that he is the butt of a divine joke. _

_Someone grabbed a hammer and applied it to the small bones of his left hand. An amateur just break bones. Professional would play with them letting the pain linger as they ask where would he like the next break. This one was a professional. _

_He tried to remember something...something to lose himself in and escape this pain. He tried to remember the glade back at Yamanouchi Mountain. He tried to recall memories of his childhood. He tried to remember the one he loved above all others. It was the memory of her that broke him. He remember Yori crying out his name while she surrendered her virtue to him. _

_The gods and the spirits of his ancestors hated him. Girls fawn over the young police officer and yet the one he desired wanted another. Then was the moment he sobbed. Then was the moment that he surrendered his spirit as they hacked apart his body. _

_He remembered the darkness. _

_He remembered the necromancer forcing his spirit into his body. _

_Everything was rebuilt. Everything but the soul that was shattered in that meat plant. _

_"Welcome to the afterlife, Hirotaka Yamanouchi." _

_However he was still trapped in the mind of a cage beast enraged by the captivity of a weaken frame. The necromancer tsked and sent him back into the darkness. _

_The darkness...the darkness was perhaps the cruelest torture that any man could devise. You are left alone with memories that no man should have to remember. The darkness...the sensation of falling endlessly even as one lay naked on a gurney. _

_The necromancer found his weakness...found his memory of Yori's betrayal. _

_Hirotaka loved her. Hirotaka needed her. Even if he had to comfort her all her life about Stoppable's death._

Hirotaka clapped three times to summons the _kami_.

The necromancer tapped into his darkest desires and made them real. He had tasted the love and taken the life of hundreds of lovers. He had repaid his tormenters in kind. He ruled the Yakuza with an iron fist. He had sired an heir that would be worthy of him.

And yet, he was truly empty.

_Tomorrow was his birthday. It was not the day he slid out from his mother's wet passage, but rather the day he left being human like the six billion other bipedal primates with delusions of grandeur. Tomorrow was the day, he set on the path to become something more than human. _

_They were of one tribe. The two of them two complete humans and yet one. They were his as she was his...would be his. They perhaps would be a fit to be his tools as Susan Lee was once his tool. _

He opened the _koseki_ (family registry) that he had stolen from his father's house. Taking the brush, he added his daughter's name. He had forever marked her as his blood. Now not even the old man can deny him what is his.

Hirotaka opened his eyes. Tonight was the start of a new life for the two girls whose images were projected unto phosphoric screens. He had master the breaking of flesh and spirit. He had experimented and over the decade and a half since his liberation perfected the technique of molding the perfect tool.

Pain...after a while the body shuts down. Pleasure...after a while the body forgets pain. Rape...rape created empty hollow things that would not be fit to serve him for anything else but a womb. Love...that was the key. He would use the love the twins had for one another to break their will to resist.

Love breaks its victims like no torturer ever could.


	48. Emptiness

**Moving Onwards **

**Emptiness **

**By Pat Squared **

* * *

Note the serious face,

Review, or I will pour melted

Cheese on you and tell Rufus that

You are a mucho grande sized order of nacos.

* * *

Violetta Lee watched as the Japan Airlines Boeing 767 pulled up the gates of the Tom Bradley Terminal at Los Angeles International Airport and discharged its passengers coming in from Tokyo. It would take off again in forty minutes with her aboard it. 

While she flew before, this would the first time that she would be going to another country. There was no excitement on the part of the teenage girl. Her grandfather was dead, but she felt empty.

The girl remembered crying for a week when her dog was died of old age just after New Years. Now that her grandfather died...she could not summon a flicker of emotion let alone a tear.

Violetta did not know she had a grandfather until a few days before Sensei Yori told her the old man was dead.

Intellectually Vee knew that she had to have two grandfathers, one for each parent.

However, she never if they were alive or who they were. This grandfather was the father of the man who broke her mother spirit. Even if Violetta's mother survived the childbirth, she would have followed her shattered spirit to the next world. No amount of medical care can keep someone alive when they had nothing to live for. All that Violetta knew about her grandfather was that he was once a police officer in Japan much like her father was before he became a monster.

Part of the problem was that the young girl did know what she should do. Hate the man for siring the monster that became her father. Feel sorry for her grandfather that he was cursed to have her father for a son. Feel anger that her father caused her grandfather to kill himself out of shame. Violetta settled for emptiness. It was perhaps the only real way to feel as it can naturally to the young teen.

Next to her, Ronnie Possible was excited to see Japan, even if he had to attend a funeral of a man neither met before.

"Twelve hours, Vee."

"More."

"More?" asked Ronnie.

Vee remained silent. She intellectually knew that Ronnie tried to get her animated, but nothing Ronnie did get Vee out of her slump. Not even ripping off almost half a million off Colorado's number one drug dealer could get her to feel alive

Emptiness...it was better than facing the pain of having to figure out how to tell the ones you love that you were dying. If she was a monster for that...she would be the best monster one can be. She refused to allow herself to feel.

Vee had too many things left to finish to risk feeling anything right now.

* * *

**Explicit: Child Abuse **

Stacey Groningen was careful not to look up at the one she was to call master.

Her little sister, Susan, was screaming in pain.

Stacey bit her lip. She had done everything first. She came out first. She was the first to stand. She was the first to walk. She was the first to speak. She was the first one to be spanked. She was the first one to throw a temper tantrum. She was the one who fight the other kids in the class. She was the one who protected her sister from the world. She was now the first to feel utterly helpless.

Stacey could not protect her sister right now and that hurt more than all the pain that the one called Master inflicted upon her.

Stacey tasted blood as her sister's scream intensified. Stacey wanted to do something, but doing anything but bowing down in front of the monster would only guarantee that her sister would suffer more.

"Two assume the position."

Both girls stood up on their toes with their arms behind their backs. Their legs were spread.

"Two, you have failed me. Tell me how?"

Both girls simultaneously replied, "I thought of myself as a person."

The master snarled at them, "You are not a person. All you are to me is a mouth, a cunt, and an ass. You will learn."

The master grabbed Susan and pointed her to a corner.

"Watch and learn."

Stacey was grabbed by her neck and forced down on the ground.

"Tell me what happens to mouths, cunts, and assholes!"

Stacey's screams climbed the walls of the room.

"Don't close your eyes...Don't you fucking dare to close your eyes slut."

A fist descended on Stacey's face. Her cheek was laid opened and blood flew. The monster stepped out of his robes. Then he smiled around the lit cigarette in his mouth.

The monster turned her over and Stacey's screams increased as he tore away the last of her innocence. The device that the monster planted in Stacey's head mean that her sister Susan would feel every sensation of pain and violation that was inflicted on Stacey. The pain of losing her maidenhead. The pain of being struck. The pain of the lit cigarette being put over her nipples. Not one single sensation would escape being shared by both sisters even though only one was raped.

Twenty five minutes later, Stacey was reduced to a whimpering mass huddled in the corner. Her sister, Susan, younger by ten minutes, was also whimpering in pain despite still being a virgin.

The monster looked at younger of the twins, "If you ever dare look me in the eyes again...your sister will suffer. She is your protector, huh? I decided that she will continue to protect you. So if either of you screw up...your sister will pay the price.

Susan knew that her sister could not protect her anymore. No one could protect her anymore. Now she had to protect her protector.

Susan reluctantly crawled on her belly to clean up the blood of her sister's ripped innocence off of the master's tool.

"Don't forget, you have to clean up your sister too."

Susan would not forget...to forget was to ensure that he will hurt Stacey again...Susan vowed to never let Stacey be hurt again.

* * *

The last time a Possible was involved in an execution was in the middle of December 1864 when Corporal Timothy Jeremiah Possible of the New York 1st Cavalry Regiment lead the firing squad that executed two rebel saboteurs captured during the Shenandoah campaign. 

One hundred twenty one years later, his great great great great great grandson had to preside over the execution of twenty two drug smugglers.

To someone who read a little Russian history, it would seem that the logistics of execution in Siberia would be relatively easy. Ten million Russians died at the hands of Stalin's underlings in this harsh land. Ten million Russians meant it could not be that hard.

However, the logistics involved was much more difficult. In the old days, the bodies did not have to be hidden. Today, leaving out the corpses for public display would be unacceptable.

The first issue was to select the site of execution.

The second was to prepare the site.

The third was to perform the execution.

The last was to hide the evidence that an execution ever took place.

This was not a legal execution. Executions in Russia have legally been put on hold. Because of an agreement with the European Union, certain prisoners instead suffered fatal accidents while serving life sentences, instead of just getting shot behind the head. However to send these smugglers through the traditional Russian criminal justice system would risk word leaking out that the cops running this village were not real cops, but rather acquired their jobs by removing their predecessors forcibly.

In the Soviet Union and later Russia, the traditional method of execution was a 5.45x18mm _Pistolet Samozaryadny Malogabaritny _or a 9x19mm _Pistolet Makarova_ bullet to the base of the skull. To spare the last prisoner undue anxiety from overhearing the report of gunfire from the first execution, the pistol will be suppressed. Since Soviet-era sound suppressors were constructed using rubber wipes and steel wool liners, each sound suppressor was good for only half a dozen shoots before being replaced. That meant the use of four suppressed pistols.

The problem was that there were no suppressed pistols in the police inventory.

Hanging was a possibility, but Tim knew that hanging was not as simple as Hollywood made it out to be and finding good hanging instructions was not practical. The only set had no diagrams and watching some guy gurgling for half an hour or get decapitated was not something that he wanted to add to his already guilty conscience.

Garroting...that meant eight minutes and a lot of strength. Tim did it once to an ex-henchman of Drakken and nearly had the tables turned on him. It was not like Hollywood where the bad guys died in a few seconds.

Knives...Tim had plenty of experience using a knife to kill a man. Bodies flop around when you cut the throat. An instant kill was anything but assured with knives.

So Timofey Posibeev had to go on the internet and Goggle "Finnish sound suppressor design."

The links took him to the _BR-Tuote Kalashnikov Reflex Suppressor_ and a diagram of what he was looking for. Not only was the design much better that anything that Tim could request in this harsh land, it could be fitted to the weapons issued to the police.

The mine had its own on site machine shop to effect emergency repairs on the mining equipment. Twelve hours later, the thirty six sound suppressors. Each was tested. Each one stood up to a magazine of full auto fire without any difficulty.

Timofey made a mental note to buy BF-Tuote stock and see if he can one day maybe get the distribution rights for Russia. Before he swore by Gemtech...but finding the high-end US made sound suppressor in Siberia was impossibility unlikely. This just required low carbon steel, a stamping machine, a welding machine, and a little hand fitting. The hard part was setting up the run.

Tim knew then that this machine shop would be his third home...his little world of chaos. After a couple years in dormancy, the mind that launched many of the Tweebs ultimate pranks was planning a comeback. For a brief second he wondered how his brother was doing. However to think about his old life...

_No...my family...my life is here. _

But for now...Tim had an execution to handle.

* * *

Kim Possible rubbed her forehead in an effort to minimize her headache. 

The problem was that she could trust no one in her office. The investigators were mostly ex-Tri-City area police detectives and according to Bonnie were on the take. Her boss received several hundred thousand in campaign donations from Liszt Industries and Rockwaller General Services. A third of Middleton and a quarter of central Colorado was employed by Rockwaller General Services. In the mountain areas, Rockwaller General Services owned have the mines in Colorado. When she would go to the grand jury...she would be responsible for the loss of jobs for a significant portion of the state.

Her case had to be bulletproof. The simplest was charging Craig Rockwaller with raping his teen underage daughter. The DNA evidence was irrefutable...but the statue of limitations for statutory rape had pass. Kim had to find a more recent crime.

The hard part is trying to get DNA on the children of Bonnie's sisters. They had a private doctor. The doctor, Bonnie claimed, was in on the deal and would not cooperate. To subpoena the doctor would be to tip off Craig Rockwaller. The only way was to have a private investigator follow one of the kids and collect a DNA sample from a straw or gum.

The case had to be airtight. Otherwise, Craig Rockwaller would get away and Kim would not be in position to prosecute Hirotaka Yamanouchi for capital murder when the authorities got their hands on him. She promised Yori and Vee that she would do everything to see that Hirotaka ends up visiting the Colorado State Chemist.

"Kim, I need to speak to you."

It was Joe McNamara...one of her investigators. While he did not come from the Tri-City area, he was friends with her other investigators. She needed him too busy to figure out that she did not trust his comrades.

"You look kind of distracted?"

"Old friend of my husband died recently."

Everyone in the DA's office knew that Kim never married but still thought of herself as Ron Stoppable's widow.

"Who?"

"An old mentor of my husband. No one you would know. Just he was the type that seemed that he would live to a hundred and fifty. Could sell just about anyone on fitness and health. He just up and died in his garden. With this caseload, I could not go so I sent my son up with a family friend to attend his funeral. Ronnie's fourteen and itching to leave the nest...but this is the first...second time he's been out of my sight so long."

Kim knew from her years as a lawyer that the best lies are misstated truths.

"So what do you call me in for?"

"Simple...I know that the local cops have processed the scenes. However, I want all the evidence in the MID-Killer case revaluated and retested. Some of this stuff is fifteen years old, but I hope that recent updates in forensics can give us something more concrete. I don't want to have to decide between retirement and nailing the son of a bitch. I want every DNA test, every fiber, everything done by multiple labs. FBI, State, and Upperton University to start. I want if possible to hit two other reputable outside labs.

"You are my lead legs for the MID-Killer case. That is all you will handle. The others will assist you, but I want one guy responsible to know everything that everyone had done. Special Agent Lori Zimmer of the Colorado State Bureau of Investigation..."

Joe's eye lit up as soon as he heard the name. Joe was a once an agent with the Colorado State Bureau of Investigation until a traffic accident gave him a permanent limp. He could no longer met the physical fitness standards for an agent, but his mind was as sharp as ever. There were no strenuous physical fitness standards for DA investigators.

"I know her...Good cop...we go back a long ways. She use to yell at me for a living. She's in DC right now, but I will definitely be in touch with her. Don't worry...the T's will be crossed and the I's will be dotted...your SOB won't be able to walk on a technicality. Bastards who kill should pay for their crimes."

Kim breathed a sigh of relief as the one investigator she was halfway sure of was safely ensconced on her most important case. The others...less trustworthy...will be assigned to lesser cases.

"What about the other cases, boss?"

"I will appoint others to head each case. You all will help one another, but I want a primary go to person for each case so when I'm in court, I don't have to remember who knows what when I need a quick answer."

The phone rang and Kim's hand snaked out to pick it up.

"Yes, this is she," Kim intoned. The call stretched on for a minute. As Joe tried to leave, Kim made an impatient sit down motion as she reached for a pad of paper and a working pen. "Please and thank you, Lori."

"Joe, I just got a call from Lori Zimmer. According to her contacts with the feds, the Japanese Police made a DNA-match on the MID-Killer. He apparently is an ex-Japanese cop turned Yakuza. Yamanouchi Hirotaka...he is wanted in Japan for a laundry list of crimes. The FBI's legal attaché is flying over to DC with some samples for our labs to confirm the match. It's about thirteen hours time difference. I got to make some phone calls. If the FBI makes a match...I will knock down some liberal judge's door to get the warrant so that the judge cannot preside over the trial. I want up to be the first warrant up so we can get first crack at the bastard. Call the crime lab...Lori will fax us the numbers as soon as the computers spite them out. I want a head DNA guy to quickly do the stats so I can finish typing the warrant."

Kim knew that the clock was ticking down. The public revelation of Hirotaka as the MID-Killer is just the first of many steps. Now she was awaiting another phone call. Bonnie Rockwaller would have to die in a California hospice and Robert would have to vanish before stage two.

Tonight was going to be an all nighter.

Kim picked up the phone and called her boss.

"Boss...we got a preliminary ID of the MID-Killer...DNA...The Japanese National Police did the work...I am already typing out the warrant and have someone at the FBI lab ready to fax us a copy of the numbers the moment they are out. Unless you tell me otherwise, we are going for the full Monty on this one...Why keep the state chemist on the payroll if we never use him...I select Judge Harriet Meyes for the bench warrant. I am going to run this past the grand jury for the indictment tomorrow. I am going to call in some favors to make sure that Hanging Martin will preside on this one...Yes, I am calling a contact I have in Japan to rush us over their information."

The fax was spitting out in the back room. The text was in Japanese alternating with English.

"Correction...my friend in Japan already sending me their numbers and a certified translation. The grand jury opens at eight...I will be there with the particulars. Call the state crime lab and have them call me. Tell them to have plenty of paper in their fax machine. Then when you can snuggle up to our senators and see if we can get first crack at the bastard if the feds get to him first."

Kim would be spending a lot of eighteen hour days in the office or in court.

"Joe, get the coffee machine up and running. It's time to call in the gang. Extra OT for everyone...fuck the budget. Joe, you just got your unofficial promotion. You are new temporarily a senior investigator. Don't make waves and after sixty days, the civil service has to bump you up two steps."

Joe was now too excited to note how Kim manipulated him. Joe would be too busy to host a beer with the others.

* * *

"See I told you it will be twelve hours." 

Ronnie showed his watch as if she was interested in the validity of his announcement.

"See..."

Vee looked at her boy friend.

"We are not there yet."

Ronnie was looking for his luggage while Vee sat on her carry on and watched as Ronnie checked every luggage tag in a futile effort to find his luggage.

Forty minutes later, Ronnie finally found his bag.

"I told you to pack only a carry on."

"I still found my luggage."

"Nope, you found a bunch of junk you have to lug up a mountain."

Ronnie obviously realized that he have to lug up everything up a mountain. He face turned pale.

"Crap."

"Be nice. It's not polite to teach the locals _gaijin_ obscenities. Makes them believe that all _gaijin_ are _baka _who can't be polite."

Vee faked a smile.

"Come over to the lockers. We are going to repack everything and leave what you don't need behind. We will pick it up when we leave."

Vee was ruthless.

"Put it in the locker. The current here is 220, not 110. You will kill yourself if you plug it in."

"But..." Ronnie pleaded.

"Nope. Ronnie, you don't need an electric blanket."

"But..."

Vee smiled, "The age of consent is twelve in Japan. Trust me...no electric blanket is going to be necessary."

"What about..."

"That too...Besides all you need is some underwear, your su...suit, toiletries, and gifts. Those Middleton Mad Dog tee shirts will do rather nicely."

"But I am..."

"No...Ronnie. Don't even think of buying gifts here. You are to bring it over. Things that they don't have here. You are going to have to give up those Middleton Mad Dog tees."

He tried his mother's puppy dog pout.

"Your feeble Jedi mind tricks don't work on me! Now put your blankee in the locker."

"But..."

_Damn it Ronnie! Next time I will let you fall flat on your face. _

"Do it. We will just have to use one toothbrush between the two of us. In fact put anything that has to be plugged into an outlet into the locker."

"Yes mommy."

Vee turned around so Ronnie could not see the tears starting to form in her eyes. She knew that growing up and being a mommy was not in the cards for her future.

There were moments that Vee wondered if some alien installed a faulty on off switch for Ronnie's brains. She knew that he was smart...in fact he tested out as smarter than her. However, he never seemed to use his brains for anything other than memorizing video game cheat codes. She had to motivate him to do his homework so he did not go to detention.

Vee searched Japanese tourist websites to find out what the customs and travel precautions were. She even Googled Yamanouchi to find out watch the local transportation was like and found out that there was a lengthy hike involved to getting to the village. Ronnie just assumed as he usually did. She was tempted to see him carry up all the crap up a mountain, but she did not want the Japanese to believe that Ronnie was a dumb foreigner.

It took half an hour of threatening and pouting, but she got Ronnie squared away as Yori was suppressing a laugh.

"You are definitely your father's son, Ronnie-san. He had to carry everything up the mountain. Be happy that Vee-san was kind enough to help you repack. Many girls would just laugh at you and watch you go up the mountain. Now we have to hike to the train station. Too bad, it would be quite an educational experience."

Vee rolled her carry-on behind her as she followed Yori to the train station.

* * *

For four hours, Vee stood silently in the glade looking at the spot where her grandfather took his life. The area was roped up with white ropes. The earth was permanently stained red with his blood. She knew that she should feel something, but four hours later, she felt nothing but the emptiness. 

She was too confused to feel anything. If she felt any kind of grief, it would be betraying her mother. If she did not, it would be a sign that she was as heartless as the creature that sired her.

"Who are you, Vee?" the girl softly asked herself.

However, there were no answers.

"Who are you?" she asked herself again.

She knew then that some part of her was just as twisted as her father. Someone that should have been close to her died and she could not feel anything.

Vee walked off and found herself sitting on a small rise in the glade.

"Your grandfather use to sit there."

"_I'm sorry_," Vee muttered as she started to move, but the old lady in robes motioned her to stay.

"I know that you are hurt. My brother...your grandfather wanted to...I'm sorry. I can't find the words in any language that I can say that will convey to you what I am trying to say."

The old lady paused for a moment to collect her thoughts.

"I am your great aunt Tamae, your grandfather's younger sister. Fifteen years ago, your father disappeared. Signs indicated that he was tortured and killed by criminals. Yori was pregnant with what would be your older brother, but the news caused her to lose her child. As I had no children, we believed that the Yamanouchi line would die out."

The old lady laid down her iron fan.

"I can't express to you the feeling to see you here. You are an answer to a prayer. However the cost...your mother suffered and you still suffer because of him. I wish I could say something to make you feel better. I wish a lot of things that the gods in their wisdom will never grant me."

The old lady looked up at the stars.

"Our history is not always a proud history. We survived in a land long ravaged by deceit and war. We just learned how to claw our way to the top and eventually repay our enemies with excessive interest. Hirotaka seeks to emulate the worst that our ancestors did. I wish that I can boast that we are saints and that Hirotaka is just the exception. However to do so would be a disservice to you; it will be a bunch of feel good lies."

Violetta Lee looked at the old lady.

"Thank you, Tamae-sama. I bear no anger at you or my grandfather. You did not command my father to rape a child or addict her to red crystal. I don't have much time left in this world...I don't have time to hate those who don't deserve it. There is no cause...no transgression to atone for on your part or my grandfather's part. Hirotaka is as responsible for my grandfather's death as my mother's death. Please, if I may be excused. I have to prepare for the funeral tomorrow. It has been a long flight and it would not be well if I fell asleep at my grandfather's memorial. Thank you for accepting me into your grief."

Violetta Lee bowed and walked to the small 1.8 x 2.4 meter room that she was sharing with Ronnie.

On the way back, grief shattered the shell of emptiness that she had carefully erected around herself.

* * *

_It's a clear sunny day in Siberia. _

_The spring thaw has melted the snow in the valleys and the dead landscape of a Russian winter has been replace by a living, green forest that could inspire generations of poets to write verses about the beauty of this land. _

_It was perfect blue sky. _

_It was the perfect day to hold a wedding. Everything screams life. _

_Twenty two men stood under the perfect blue sky. Shoulder to shoulder, side by side, each of the twenty two were given a fleeting glimpse of the perfect blue sky, given a puff of a cigarette, blind folded, and lead into the prepared ditch. _

_Side by side and yet alone, this day came too soon for each one of these men. _

_Twenty two times, a finger pulled a trigger. _

_The sound akin to a heavy phone book or dictionary being dropped on an old wooden desk was heard. Then the body would hit the earth. Those still alive would whimper. Another story untold joined the ten million other stories left untold in this beautiful land under the perfect blue sky._

Timofey Posibeev watched as Alexsei Olenkhna and Gregory Alekseevich spread lime on the bodies to add decomposition. Then Timofey tossed in CN powder to prevent the animals from digging up the remains. Kohl and Belz started dropping rocks over the bodies. Once when Tim was satisfied that no animal was going to dig up the corpses did they cover the area with earth and even transplanted some bushes. It was not the first life that Timofey Posibeev took in his thirty three years on this planet. It probably would not be his last. However he would never forget this surreal moment.

He had condemned these men to their deaths. He had judged them. He had pronounced the sentence. He had walked down the line. He had place the muzzle of the sound suppress to the base of their skull. He had pulled the trigger. He had ended their lives for doing what he himself had done only month's prior.

Now he was going to negotiate the sale of half the drugs these men died to move.

Tim looked up at the perfect blue sky and wondered if it would be him looking at the perfect blue sky one last time before the executor put the muzzle to the base of his skull and pull the trigger.

It was time to go home, kiss the wife, and play with his daughter.

Tomorrow he would have to ride to the border to negotiate the deal.

If they caught him, it would be he that would be subject to the muzzle of some executor's pistol.

That is if they got him alive. A surplus Soviet-era grenade with a zero-second fuse would ensure that anyone who tried to put the pinch on him would join him in the hell he so richly deserved.


	49. Playing It Close

**Moving Onwards **

**Playing It Close **

**By Pat Squared **

* * *

**REVIEW **

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**I paid five installments of $29.95 to **

**learn the Jedi mind trick so it better work! **

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* * *

Today, Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev was in his Sunday best. 

Grey woolen, tailor made suit...spit shined back loafers...black leather trench coat...custom fitted black calfskin leather gloves, and a suppressed 7.62x38mmR Nagant M1895 revolver once used to perform executions. Also a zero-second fused hand grenade.

Having being played the role of inquisitor made Tim intimately know just what they would do to him to make him talk. Amateurs bungle and let their victims died before confession. However, no man can endlessly hold out his most intimate secrets in the hands of a professional. No...no one was going to be in a position to make him answer questions he did not want to answer.

For the amount of money involved in moving three hundred kilograms of Afghanistan's finest poppy pod exact, men have sold their souls. It was to be seen if the Devil would claim it's marker for Tim's soul today or wait for the next.

Despite fighting a war against opium since the nineteenth century, the demand for the drug was a strong as ever. Even when three successive Chinese governments, the Emperor, the Nationalists, and later the Communists, order that the death penalty be applied to those who dealt in the substance, there were thousands of dealers seeking a portion of the wealth that poppy tears can bring.

Today, Timofey was going to become a deal dealer. Not the corner dude variety but rather one of the distributors.

* * *

Violetta Lee was awake. 

Her boyfriend/best friend Ronald Stoppable Possible had her pinned to the futon with his weight as he snored.

Last night...the dreams were too vivid to fall asleep.

_A five year old Japanese girl encountered a shadowy figure. They were both in a thick bamboo grove outside the village and the clouds hid the moon and the stars. She was heading towards the rocky outcropping that has served as her sleeping place since she could remember. _

_These two were obviously from different worlds. _

_The man was obviously educated...from the upper classes. His fingers were long and his hands were not stained. His clothes were spotlessly white. On his hip were twin swords and accompanying him was an old servant. _

_The child was in rags. The only possessions she had was a wooden begging beg and the rags that let the cold night air suck the warmth from her flesh. _

_The little girl said as she extended her bowl. She could not speak. _

_Her eyes were downcast. The man had absolute power of life and death over anyone he encountered but a fellow samurai. The two swords on his hip marked him from the samurai class. Some have been know to test the sharpness of their blades upon the bodies of peasants that they encountered. _

_The young man walked on by as if she did not exist. The child was thankful. Begging from such a man could have resulted in being used in a cutting test. _

_The servant stopped and dropped a single coin in her bowl. The young girl then was about to bow to the servant, but the servant motioned her to be still. _

_"Do you have any family?" _

_The young girl shook her head. It was obvious that the young girl lived off the scraps and coins that the local villagers gave her. _

_"Follow me and do as I say. You will be fed later." _

_The young child was afraid, but the promise of food overrode any sense of caution. The young child followed the servant. She was perhaps five or six years old. _

_Hours later, the young girl was bowing to the master as servant was feeding the master his supper. Once the master was done, the servant took away the food. There were more than enough leftovers to feed her well for a week. _

_The child wanted to follow the servant as she had not eaten since the day before yesterday. Somehow instinctively she knew that she had to remain here. _

_The servant returned with warm water, a bowl, and a towel. Once the master's hands were clean the master faced the servant. _

_"Why did you pick up this...thing?" _

_"Master, you told me yesterday that you needed a double for your sister, Toshi-san. This child is ideal. She is a mute." _

_"Why do I want a mute?" _

_"I apologize, my lord. A mute girl cannot repeat any secrets that she might overhear. She has no ties to any family...she is quite moldable. She cannot betray her peasant origin's when she opens her mouth and uses the wrong honorific. She is the almost perfect." _

_"Are you sure...that she is a mute?" _

_"My lord...I asked. Otherwise I would have selected another girl in other village for the task. This one has not made a sound since she was born. She can hear...but she can't speak or even make a grunt." _

_"Strip these filthy rags off of this urchin." _

_The servant tore off the frayed burlap. _

_The master walked around. _

_"Filthy, bug bites, and stinks like a pig rolling around in its own filth. And yet if I did not know better, I could swear that my lecherous brother, Kado, stated his needs with her mother. With a lot of work...this one will be adequate. Better one of my brother's numerous bastards than one of my sisters." _

_The samurai prodded the child with his toe. _

_"Get this one cleaned up. According to Lord Yamaguchi Aoki, I have to marry off one of my sisters to one of those filthy Yamanouchi assassins. If my father did not surrender and bound us to the Yamaguichi...I would wipe every one of the the Yamanouchi from this earth. I can't stand to have once of those _tenchu_ mounting my sister. I would rather have my sister be mounted by the boy who cleans my soldiers' chamber pots than one of those honorless Yamaguichi. _

_"My half-sister Toshi is going to be cursed with the god's disease. I want rummers to slip out that she already had several seizures. Unfortunately this sickness is going to cost her the ability to speak before her miraculous recovery. This Toshi," the master pointed to the prostrated girl, "will recover and will be sent to the Yamanouchi household. Your sister, Tamiko, and you will accompany her and ensure that the Yamanouchi accept her as Toshi. Tamiko will act as Toshi's governess and you will act as her bodyguard. Let the _jonin's _son bred with this gutter child. It will be an improvement in their bloodlines. Better yet...train this one to be my dagger at the Yamanouchi's throat. I want you to make sure that when I desire she will kill her husband and his family." _

_The servant was obviously frightened. The lord was on a course that he was uncomfortable with. Despite the servant's misgivings, the man merely bowed and said, "It will be done, my master. By the godless month two years from today, Toshi will sate your father's debts to the Yamanouchi." _

_The master went to bed. Fifteen minutes later the servant walked out and motioned for the girl to follow him. _

_"You are to no longer bow to any servant...that includes me. You are to no longer bow to just anyone carrying two swords. You are a deceased daimyo's daughter and a daimyo's sister. Your husband is the heir of his clan. You will rank about anyone not of the blood. You are now Nakamura Toshi, youngest daughter of Lord Nakamura Raidon, now deceased, and youngest sister of Lord Nakamura Yoshi. I am Jiro, your bodyguard and trainer." _

_The young girl did not yet know the weavings of fate. All she knew was that the servant was going to feed her, clean her, and give her a warm place to sleep. That was all she had to know for now. _

"Vee snap out of it!"

It was Violetta's boyfriend, Ronnie. Vee knew that he was sensing that something was wrong with her. She did not want him to find out that her mind was fading so she lied.

"Just jet lag, Ronnie. Can't fall asleep and yet can't be awake."

Vee snuggled closer to her boyfriend. She gave him a kiss and wondered why she ever had that dream.

* * *

The twins silently watched as their master poured sand and wood shavings into a canvas bag. Inside was a young man who had similar features to the master. 

"You have failed me, Kenji. Your father might have been one of the heads of the _Yamaguichi-giri_ (a Yakuza clan), but you could not even inform me that my former employers were now cooperating with the gaijin authorities. I had to find it out on the news when they broadcasted the image of my old police jacket photo all over the satellite television. In the old days, I would have given you a dull knife and let you atone. However, slitting your belly, even without a second, is an honor that you don't deserve."

The master padlocked the bag and effortlessly hanged it on the hook.

The voice inside of the girls' skulls gave them an order.

_The two of you have learned the consequences of disobedience. Now you will learn to punish disobedience. Pick up the bats. You task...hit the bag like one of the piñatas that you American-jin hit for your birthday. Keep swinging until the bag is destroyed. If you do it within six hours, you will get an award. _

The master walked away. There were two dozen other men in the room silently watching what was about to happen.

The two girls looked at one another.

_We don't have a choice. If we don't it will be us in the bag._

With the master's little _buzzer_ sitting inside their skulls, they learned that they did not have to say the words...just think them hard and the other girl would receive them. However, if they thought of something bad about the man who hurt them the pain would come back.

The girls picked up the bats and started swinging it like they learned playing girls' softball. Neither of the twins wanted to face the pain again. Besides, the master's award allowed them to temporarily forget the pain. The cool mist of the inhalers allowed them to forget everything that was done to them...at least for a little while.

The twenty four men, all expressionless, watches as the two girls beat the bag with their bats. It took the girls two hours until the blood dripped through the sand and wood shavings packed around the unfortunate Yakuza underling. By the four hour mark the bag was torn apart. A broken body and the sand and wood shavings that absorbed the blood spilled out over the floor of the dojo.

The twenty four Yakuza underbosses got the message that any failure would result in their being the next object lessons for the two _jingai_ to practice their batting skills upon.

* * *

"What do you mean they _disappeared_? Over half a ton of product and twenty three men don't just disappear." 

The voice on the other end of the phone muttered some pathetic excuse.

"_Zacroy svoy peesavati rot, sooka _(Shut your fucking mouth, bitch)! I am sick and tired of your _kozel opooscheny_ (raped male prison bitch) excuses. Find me my merchandise or get me the testicles of the _pidar_ (faggots) that stole it."

The handset was slammed down.

The _vor_ (godfather) was upset. Half a ton...With just about every family in Southern Russia seeking to tap the China opium market, getting half a ton of product to the east was a logistical nightmare. The bribes, evading the police commanders that work for rival Russian mafia families, just getting the stuff moved in the emptiness of Siberia...

All that work and so close to the Chinese border...20 kilometers southeast of Zeya...it was like getting the beautiful maiden to have sex with you and your zipper getting stuck.

"Call Iosif. If Pavel Levovich can't find my property, I want Iosif to clean the mess."

Heroin had a street price of 150 Euros per gram in the cities Germany. In China, the same gram would fetch 2,500 yuan, about triple the German price once one did the currency conversions. Despite the Chinese government practice of executing any convicted drug smugglers, the sky rocketing Chinese economy and the sudden increase of wealth made the Chinese market in many ways more profitable than either the North American or European markets. The Chinese middle class was larger than the population of the United States.

This shipment...the shipment represent two months of work.

But the _vor_ was not upset about the money or the drugs. It was something else.

His nephew Oleg Pavelovich was accompanying the shipment. This was Oleg's first major deal. Oleg had proven his loyalty many times. Oleg had killed, with his bare hands, a Mafioso who tried to get Oleg to skim an extra percentage of the protection money.

Either Oleg turned, which was highly unlikely, or he was dead. The _vor_ prayed for a miracle and prepared to tell his sister that her baby is dead.

The _vor_ vowed to roast the bastards' ball and feed them to the bastards' bitches before he raped them. As for the bastards' getting gang raped by some violent prison sadists before being broken upon the wheel would only be a start.

The _vor_ opened his desk and pulled out his IMI Desert Eagle. He did not like Jews, but he had no qualms about using their weapons.

He holstered the pistol in his shoulder holster. He put on his jacket. He walked into the anteroom.

"Iosif...Oleg is dead or wishes he was dead right now. I want you to call up some of your ex-Spetnaz comrades and find out what happened to my nephew. If something bad happened, I want you to bring the offending party to me. Kill as many as you want, but I want whoever was in charge alive. Treat this one special...it's worth 100,000 Euros.

Iosif didn't blink even though the _vor_ offered him twice the going rate. Iosif though of himself as a professional and acted like one.

Iosif stood, made a brief bow, and walked off without saying a word.

* * *

Timofey Posibeev examined the man opposite him. 

The man's face was so pocked marked that Timofey wondered how he ever managed to shave. There were more craters than the moon. The scaring was extensive.

_It's like his face was on fire and his pals put it out with an ice pick. _

The image almost brought a smile to Tim's face.

"How many kilo's of agricultural products do you wish to import to China?"

"Three hundred kilograms. Buyer picks up the stuff at the border."

The man's eyes widen, but instantly was guarded.

"Can I inspect the produce? Make sure it's not stale."

Tim slid a small wooden box over.

"This is a sample."

The man opened a box and inside was a small sealed test tube.

"How long will the deal be on the table?"

Tim knew that it was a test to see how he would react. Too aggressive or passive...Tim settled for the middle course.

"You have until dessert."

"Your price?"

"Suggest a number?"

"700,000 Euros in bearer bonds."

Tim shook his head, " Beijing is quite an active market. A six hundred percent mark up rather much."

"We are in a land where they execute drug dealers. A six hundred percent mark up is reasonable considering that we expect to lose a quarter of the produce and a couple agents in shipping and distribution."

"Supply and demand. This stuff is about as pure as you can get without growing it yourself. High quality. Hell you will have to cut the stuff to make sure your clients don't all croak."

"Still...would seven seventy five be satisfactory?"

"One million in a 'crow account. SIG AG SegaIntersettle in Osten, Switzerland can hold the 'crow."

'Crow or escrow accounts were a familiar instrument for Timofey Posibeev. More than one in his old life as Tim Possible was Tim forced into the assassination racket to obtain funds or intelligence for his hunt. 'Crow accounts were set up by the parties but managed by a third party for a percentage. Only when escrow was closed and all parties agreed where the funds release. The 'crows were set up so that their would be no electronic trail for any forensic account to sniff. If both parties did not close the escrow in a given amount of time, the money would then go to the bank. That way the depositor could not collect the product and then kill the seller and get his money back. All crows funds went one way. This ensured that no one could cheat the other in big money deals.

"Eight hundred thousand is about as high as I can go. Otherwise I am making a loss. You don't know how many _produce inspectors_ there are in China. I swear they breed like bunnies despite the one child policy."

"840 it is if the transfers are done in three stages. Two hundred eighty thousand Euros and a hundred kilos per stage. Here is an email address. I will check it at noon every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Below are the deposit codes and the name of the bank. Once things are set up, we will meet here to handle the trade. We will be dressed as police so don't panic if you see us in uniform."

"How do I know you are not cops?"

"This is Russia. As my grandfather would say, there are cops and there are cops. Let just say that we are the second variety...the flexible variety. As long as you don't sell in my brick...I could care less how much product you sell to the slant eyes."

"Deal?"

Tim extended his hand.

"Deal."

It was too easy. Tim wondered if it was greed or was his intuition right. In any case, everyone will be loaded up ready to fight World War III.

* * *

Robert Rockwaller looked on as _Auntie_ Tara removed the IV lines from his mother's body. 

The audible alarms on the heart monitor were silenced as Dr. Tara Strong, MD, pronounced her best friend and his mother dead at 2:31 AM. The nurse covered her body with a blue sheet as Robert was lead out of the room.

"Thank you Aunt Tara."

Tara shook her head.

"It doesn't get any easier with practice, Robert. I had to tell hundreds of folks that their relatives were dead and still it's the second hardest thing to do. The hardest is watching those you love die. I know that it won't mean much to your right now, but I am sorry that I failed the both of you."

Robert looked at his mother's only real friend, "You did not fail us. You took us in when my mother had no place left to go. You made sure that mom had a place to stay when she had me and put up with my crying at all hours of the night. Thank you for being there at the end. Now it's time for me to go. I have to inform the funeral home and get things started. I will be by tomorrow with the details."

Dr. Strong looked at the boy she had help raised since he was a six and a half pound, eleven inch bundle. Despite also nineteen years, two hundred and thirty extra pounds, and an five feet and three inches of extra length, in many ways she still though of him as the little bundle that she had first seen so long ago.

Tara wondered what would happen now. Robert hated his mother's family. He broke up with his high school girlfriend when he went on to college. Despite his popularity as USC's star middle linebacker, he was an introvert and a loner. He did not hang out with the team. He always was a loner seemingly unable to connect with others his age. His outlook on life was significantly different...more like a forty year old rather than a teen. Tara vowed to keep an especially close eye on her nephew.

* * *

"_Hijo de mill putas_ (Son of a thousand bitches). _Me cago en tu puta madre_ (I shit in your whore mother). _Que carajo quieres, gringos?_ (What the hell do you want, gringos?)" 

Sergeant Henry Groningen, Go City Police Homicide Division, was tapping into the second language that his mother taught his sister Sheena, and his brother Michael, and him. The twins did not understand much but they knew that the phrases coming out of their brother's mouth did not come out of any tourist guidebook.

Despite having Anglo-sounding names courtesy of their Irish Catholic father, the members of the Groningen family had Latin blood via their mother and the older kids obviously inherited her fiery temper along with a smattering of Spanish. It was perhaps the curse of the family. A family full of hot tempers often spelled trouble with a capital T.

Wego looked at one another. The last time they heard this level of cursing was when Henry and Sheena were having at it just before Sheena left the family and became a thief and later a villain. Last week, nothing could get Henry out of his shell. Today, just about everything set him off.

When Henry was set off...there was not much that could withstand his temper. Not even the reinforce gym inside the Go Tower. Henry reached into the bag of charcoal, picked out some coal, and started squeezing the coal in an effort not to snap the agents into kindling. Because of the atmospheric nitrogen trapped inside, the resulting diamonds were yellowish, but otherwise were identical to the raw stuff coming out of the ground in South Africa. If the folks from DeBeers found about about this...they would die from a collective heart attack.

The two FBI agents were eying the distraught police sergeant warily wondering if they would have to use their side arms. If it was not for the present of the other Groningen brothers, it would be a fifty-fifty toss up.

Michael, Mego, looked at the two FBI agents and motioned them to another room.

"My brother is in no condition to hear what you have to say. Tell me and I will relay it when it's safe to do so."

The FBI agents, knowing that tact was their key to a long healthy life, agreed.

Mego listened and carefully wrote down everything. He then handed the agents his business cards with cell phone number.

"Next time...text me first and I will me you elsewhere. I'm a Realtor so I will have my cell phone on me twenty four-seven."

The FBI agents departed obviously relieved that they could pass the burden to someone else.

Having the name of the bastard who kidnapped his nieces would not ensure their safe return. However, it would hopefully allow Henry to channel his anger. Otherwise, this district of Go City was going to look like Hiroshima after the bomb was dropped.

Now Michael had to figure out how to approach his brother without being squashed like a bug. Having the ability to rapidly heal did not mean that one was immortal. Shrinking was a talent, but Michael count not shrink down small enough to withstand being crushed into a diamond.

From his years in real estate, Michael mastered the ability to talk to just about anyone. Tonight, he would have to exercise this skill and hope that his brother did not crush him into a gemstone. Michael told his twin brothers to keep an eye on Henry. Michael went to his office and googled the MID-killer.

In time his brother would return to type and Michael would need a lot of documents to keep his brother distracted while Michael and his twin brothers start scouring the world for the man who kidnapped their nieces.

* * *

Seven thousand miles away, the niece unknown to the Groningen family watched as her great aunt chanted sutras. 

Violetta Lee was wearing a white kimono. Her boyfriend and the son of one of Master Sensei's students what wearing a black suit with a black morning band. Yori was nearby keeping a running translation of what was occurring.

Violetta was not paying attention to Yori's running translation. To pay attention to the translation was to miss what was happening in this time and place.

The temple of Yamanouchi village was crowded. From all over did many come to pay their last respects to her grandfather. Everyone, but Priestess Tamae, Yori, and Vee were dressed in light absorbing black. There were whispers as Yori and she were up by the body.

The incense was burning as Priest Tamae, the deceased sister and Vee's great aunt, finished chanting the appropriate sutras. One by one the guest walked up, bowed to the alter, and then offer more incense, before the guest bowed again and returned to their place. Her grandfather was given a new name and flowers were placed in the casket. Yori motioned her forward and helped the lost child slide the top of the coffin. With a rock, the pair nailed the coffin shut.

The procession made it's way to place prepared for the cremation. The coffin was placed on top of the pyre. Yori poured oil on the coffin. The students of Yamanoichi...past and present tossed a lit torch into the pyre. Despite incense being regularly tossed into the pyre, the scent of burning flesh saturated the air.

The pyre burned for six hours as the young teenaged stood watching silently as many of the guest silently left. Soon only a handful of guest remained.

As the ashes cooled, Violetta thought through all the conflicting thoughts in her head. Her father's acts in siring her life had taken three lives...her mother's, her grandfathers, and soon her life. There was no more shame in feeling hurt for the man who sired her father. It was not a betrayal of the duty that she owed her mother. To hate her father's family was not the way to honor her mother. To hate anyone but her father was to betray the family that her father had destroyed.

_One day, I will watch your body burn. I vow that I will be there to see you off to hell. Even if I am dead, I will come back to see you burn...alone and unmourned father._

Yori and Violetta took the chopsticks and together they placed the bones in the urn as the few remaining watch. The ashes were scooped up and poured into the urn. Soon the urn was sealed and wrapped in white paper. Yori led Violetta and Ron to temple.

Violetta watched as Yori placed the urn behind the alter.

"In nine days, you and I will lay your grandfather's remains along side the ashes of your ancestors. I only wish that you could have met him. He would have loved you."

Violetta bit her lip, but no even she could control the tears in her eyes.

"Thank you Yori-sama."

"No Vee-san, I have failed you and failed your grandfather. You and Ronnie both are heirs to legacies that I...I don't know how to say it...I speak half a dozen languages, but none of them have any words to explain the concepts I am trying to communicate. Ronnie is his father's son. You are the last of an ancient line. Both of you are blessed. Both of you are cursed...measured by fate to meet the standards your ancestors set for you. However, I know that you both will triumph over adversity. Tomorrow, you will begin learning about traditions.

"Vee, you have descended from a line of ninjas. Contrary to the movies, we are not supernatural creatures. To float in space, you will need a Hong Kong wirework team just like any other martial artist.

"We were simply a mountain people who as your great aunt would phase it, _Clawed our way to the top and paid our enemies back with excessive interest_. Most of the time, we watched. We did not defend truth, righteousness, or honor. We did what we did to survive. _Nin_...it simply means to endure. Your father...he chose to follow the darker side of our history and make a new clan...as ruthless as any of our ancestors could imagine."

Yori face Ronnie.

"Ronnie, your father was marked by something that we cannot explain. Your father was born with a gift and obtained another. All I can do is show you the door, but it's up to you to drop your preconceptions and master the gifts you inherited from both your parents. I am going to put the two of you through a hell that I once went through...that your fathers both went through. Until we leave, you will be students at Yamanouchi. The instructors won't use English and will get physical. Vee, I know you took the hypno-course in Japanese. Ronnie, you will wish you did. When the others are beating your bodies...Priest Tamae and I will be cramming your minds."

Ronnie looked downfallen.

"I am sorry but Hirotaka is after both of you. If he gets one of you...he will use your love to get the other. If that happens...he will break the two of you. He will break you until you become like him...until you have long left your humanity behind. A riddle for you to ponder...what feeling can create the greatest evil?"

Vee bowed to Yori and to the urn holding her grandfather's ashes. She then grabbed Ronnie and departed.

Ronnie looked at Vee.

"What was that about?"

Vee did not answer, but instead lead Ronnie to the bath house.

"Promise me...promise me that if anything bad happens that you won't try to sa...save me."

Ronnie looked at her in shock.

"Promise me Ronnie. I need to know that if my father got his hands on me that you won't give into his demands. I don't care what he does to me...torture...kill me...I don't want him to get his hands on you."

"I can promise anything...but not that. I promise you that if he gets you, I will come for you. I will not surrender to him...but I won't let him keep you either."

Violetta did not want to hear that answer. She felt that she did not deserve that answer. He was going to give up his life to save her even when she didn't have a life left to save.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it...getting what you wish for is a living hell!_

Long ago, she wished for Ronnie to love her as she loved him. She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him that she was worthless...that she was meant for nothing but an early death.

_Crap, crap, crap, shit, fuck, damn, karida puta (stupid fucking whore). Wala kang silbi sa mundo pakamatay ka na lang (You are worthless to this world, better go and kill yourself), shabi (dumb cunt). You are nothing but some shameless dumb slut. If you grew up here you would be screaming, Echi shite kudasai (Please fuck me) to any bastard that would pay attention to you. Gago ka (You are an empty headed fool)!_

Living with a Filipina foster mother and learning kung fu from a foul mouthed Chinese martial arts teacher taught the young girl how to shame any sailor in half a dozen different languages.

She wanted to hurt him...to break his heart so that he would not suffer when her fate caught up with her. However, every time she summoned the courage...she chickened out. She wanted to hurt him because she loved him so he wouldn't get hurt. Vee knew that the logic of it all was faulty. However, despite her naturally scheming mind, Vee sometimes found herself being left in a limbo and this _I love Ronnie so I want him to break up with me_ thing...ranked up there with the time she and Ronnie were six and got stuck on the roof naked in the Colorado winter while trying to stalk Santa Claus and kidnap him for the presents.

She knew that she should cool off the relationship. She knew that she should just take a bath and go to sleep. However, doing the wise thing was never a part of her make up. If she could not leave him...she vowed to make it up to him. Both Ronnie and she were covered by blown ashes. It was time for a traditional Japanese bath. It was time to storm the heavens and summon the thunder and the rain.


	50. Brutal Training

**Moving Onwards **

**Brutal Training **

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

**Review or I will paint you yellow and tell **

**Monkey Fist's monkey ninjas that you are a **

**banana! **

* * *

_It was time. _

_For nine years, the servants Jiro and Tamiko had been at her side training her in the ways of the upper class and also in the dishonorable ways of the assassin. She had master the arts _ikebana_ (flower arrangement), _sado_ (tea ceremony), ceramics, calligraphy, court etiquette, dancing, Zen philosophy, painting, music, _kyujutsu_ (archery), _bajutsu _(horsemanship)_, bo jutsu _(fighting with the bo or staff),_ gishogiin no jutsu _(forgery), _kenjutsu_ (swordmanship), _naginatajustsu_ (use of the naginata), _sojutsu_ (use of the spear), _tessen-jutsu_ (use of the iron fan), make up and disguise, mediation, empty handed fighting and grappling, pressure point striking, poisons, sleight of hand, and _aisha_ (manipulating soft hearted people). In short, the young lady mastered every art expected of that any noble lady, save public speaking and singing, was expected to master and the dirty tricks that noble daughters would not be expected to master. _

_The now young lady had past inspections a hundred times over. Dozens of nobles encountered her and none suspected that she was born to a lowly village peasant and was a street beggar for the first five years of her life. She was the legendary silent beauty and had many noblemen ask for her hand in marriage. However, Lord Aoki, Nakamura Yoshi's, her_ _benefactor's, liege lord had long ago arranged her marriage to the heir of the Yamanouchi Clan. _

_In return for escaping poverty and the all too familiar sensation of starvation, the young lady vowed to serve her Lord Nakamura as he directed. Last night she received the order to kill the leadership of the Yamanouchi clan and subordinate the clan of assassins to the Nakamura Clan. _

_Realistically her chances of success were zero. However the gambit was perfect. If she failed...the real Toshi would be found dead on the road. Then Nakamura would claim that the real Toshi was killed and evidence would emerge linking the deception to a rival assassin clan. The struggle would weaken two separate ninja clans and allow the Nakamura Clan to consolidate power in the region. If she succeeded...he would have control of perhaps the most dangerous weapon that any lord can have in his quiver and use it to subordinate her foes. _

_Today, she would leave the household of the Nakamura household and journey to the household of her future husband, a Yamanouchi. Her only contact with her old life would be the presence of Jiro's sister Tamiko who would accompany her as her personal servant and midwife for when her child would be born. The birth of her child would be signal for her to enact the plan. _

_She was dressed in a white kimono and her skin was covered with white make up to signify her purity to the divine spirits that would be presiding over the wedding ceremony. However as part of her education, the young lady had tasted every perversion that did not require the sacrifice of her maidenhead. She had learned from courtesans how to seduce both males and females. She had learned to separate sexual pleasure from the feelings of love. Her first kill was the girl that taught her how to love a woman. _

_She had killed her tutors in the arts of love to prevent rumors from flying. _

_The lady smiled to the peasants seeing her off. _

_She hated the townsfolk and peasants most of all. These were the same people that hit, kick, and beat her when she was just a mute beggar child. They would deliberately taunt her with the promise of food, force her to degrade herself, and then withhold it. They looked down upon her when she was a beggar and now begged her favor when she was a noble lady. Now they were all fighting each other for a glimpse of the legendary Lady Toshi. Despite the masquerade she played for the past ten years, she still saw herself the same, mute child that grew up running naked down the muddy streets of the village. She was still the same, mute child that these people beat when she dug into their garbage pits for a little food to eat. She smiled as she imagine the high and mighty being taken down by the mute, beggar girl they all once looked down upon. _

_In her sash was a _tanto_ (dagger). In her hair were pins and decoration that hide half a dozen items that could be used as a weapon to kill anyone she pleased. However her most dangerous weapon was not any of the items that were in her possession, but the brains between her ears. Jiro once chided her saying that she had the blood of a thousand demons running in veins. She had taken to this conspiracy like a shark in water. _

_Blood...the elixir of life was her only proof that this all was not a dream. When she first began her training, she feared that this was all a complex hallucination brought on by starvation. At night, she would cut herself and taste her own blood to prove to herself that this was real...not a fever dream. _

_A part of her wondered how her life would turn out if she did not encounter Nakamura Yoshi and his loyal retainer Jiro. She would probably end up dead or a village prostitute spreading her legs for small tokens of copper and silver. She would be subservient to the mass...a thing of contempt...an outcast. _

_Tonight, she would appear before those she was sent to topple. She would fell a mighty mountain and ascend to the heights of power. Nine years ago she willingly sold herself for a chance to eat. Now she was going to sell her body for power. No matter who one was on the wheel of life there was always a hunger for something more. Holy men sold themselves for enlightenment. Samurai sold their independence for some illusion of honor. Merchants for wealth. Peasants for food. Everyone was in the market for something they did not have. Power was knowing what everyone desired and being able to make them come to you for it. _

_She looked at the war dogs that accompanied her as part of her dowry. They were trained, but they were train to recognize her as the ultimate master. One silent hand jester and they would turn on their handlers killing them on her command. She would soon have that kind of power over the most dangerous bunch of killers in the world._

Vee had another twisted dream.

According to her foster mother, a psychologist, dreams were the vehicle to mastering control over her life. In dreams one faces their greatest fears and deals with issues troubling them. The problem is why this Japanese theme dream and why the waif turned noble lady is the central character of her dreams.

Violetta Lee slide out from Ronnie's embrace. She sat in the corner looking at her snoring lover wondering why she was so messed up. When she was younger, she once dreamt of growing up and doing all the grown up things that grown ups do. Now that she was anything but innocent, she wanted to be six years old again.

When she was six, she did not know about the fact that she would not live long enough to be able to drive let alone have a family. When she was six, she did not know that love mess everything up. When she was six, she did not have to deal with the complications that sex brought into her relationship with her best friend.

_Vee why do you have to mess up everything? Ronnie won't let you go. And you are too much of a coward to break his heart. You can't do the right thing and let him go._

Violetta wanted a lot of things...a lot of things that fate in its twisted reason would never allow. She would never have a family of her own. She would never march down the aisle. She would never finish school. She would never be allowed to chart her own destiny. Seeing others take for granted the things she would never have in her life became a bitter curse.

Violetta reached into her bag and took out her inhaler. It would be so easy to end it all. Just keep on squeezing down the inhaler until she took so much red crystal in that she apparently died of an overdose. It was a lot less painful than the method her grandfather used to end his days. No one would know that it was not an accident.

_Why did I have to be Catholic?_

She cursed herself. She was not Catholic enough to hang unto her virginity. However, she was Catholic enough to not be able to end the mess that she had created last summer.

Violetta spent the next five minutes trying to figure out what she was going to do. However there was no divine inspiration giving her any hint of what to do about dealing with her mortality.

_No effing doubt. I am just plain effed up, certified, howling at the moon bitch. _

Violetta slide into a robe and quietly opened the door. She stepped out, but the second she did, the floor chirped. She had forgotten about the nightingale floors that formed the hallways. They were designed to foil assassins by chirping whenever someone walked on them.

Ronnie woke up and spotted her.

"Where you going?" he asked.

Vee knew that she was caught. She had to put her best face on and lie to the one thing that made her life bearable.

"Got to take my meds."

Ronnie got up and slid into a robe.

"Those Japanese toilets aren't the same."

He followed her. She knew exactly what was going to happen. She was going to inhale another dose of the poison. She was going to go out of control. He was going to know just how messed up she was. Everything was going to be messed up and the confusing mess that is her life is going to be more confused.

* * *

Vee watched as her boyfriend was lead off to a different part of the Yamanouchi compound.

Violetta follow Yori-sensei and four other Japanese girls down a stone stairway and into an underground cave.

"This was the prison and the storehouse in ancient times. We now use it as storage and the largest room as a meditation hall."

"I thought..."

Yori smiled.

"You thought wrong young _padiwan_. Since you are such a sci-fi fan let me try to phase certain concepts in terms you might be familiar with. We were training our students in the Way long before Lucas came up with the Force. Despite all your martial arts training, you did not grow up with the traditions. You were lead to believe only what you can see or touch. Skepticism is a value we teach our students, but sometimes it takes a little...faith...intuition, and just maybe a little dab of the Force to make sure don't you come home in a body bag."

Vee had memorized just about every line from all six Star Wars episodes. When she was small, like many kids wondered if their really was a force. Now it seems that she was going to see the original...the thing that inspired Lucas to create the Force.

_Cool! _

Despite her being a fourteen year old girl, Vee was never one for chick flicks. She instead incessantly watched Hong heroic bloodshed flicks, science fiction flicks, and Japanese anime.

"Now my new apprentice, your training will be over once you do these three things. Say one word with your mouth shut. Tell me what the color of the wind is." Yori-sensei opened a wooden box and held out a scroll. "And tell me the words that inside this scroll without opening it."

Violetta looked at her sensei as if she was off her rocker.

"These were the three questions your grandfather asked me when he took me on as his personal student when I was nine. These were the three questions my great grandfather asked your grandfather when your grandfather became his student. For generations a Yamanouchi trains a Suzuki and then the Suzuki trains a Yamanouchi. Remember this...a relationship between a parent and a child spans one generation...a relationship between a husband and a wife spans two...and the relationship between a teacher and a student spans three. Some things I will try to share with you. Other things...I can only show you the way, but you must walk the path. Enlightenment...that path you must find and walk yourself. Your have one question before we start. Think well and ask it."

Violetta knew from her studies of martial arts that sometimes a teacher would have a final test. Despite having Asian blood and an Asian foster mother, her knowledge of Asian philosophy was minimal. However, she knew the question that she would ask would forever set the tone of her relationship with her new teacher and with her new classmates. She closed her eyes trying to think of a proper question. However, the more she thought...the harder she concentrated...the more the proper question slipped away.

Then she remembered the book that she read back in sixth grade. Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. In the book, everyone knew the answer to the question of life, 42, but no one knew the question. The question to ask was not to seek an answer but to seek a question.

"What is the question?"

Yori looked at her new student.

"What is the question? Damn Wachowski Brothers...Ever since the Matrix series came out just about every ninja wantabe parrots that damn answer back. It much have become the rage in fortune cookies. The problem is that tradition prevents me from asking a new question. As for my answer...let's just say that you ever find the answer you will be a god. The type they kill before they worship your corpse. Now that you had your question, it's time to start.

Vee knew that she had won something. Now she had to answer the three impossible questions.

_How do you do it? _

_If you can read minds, you can have anything you want. _

It was the secret to Vee's numerous scams. She was not some physic Jedi. She did not have the Jedi mind trick. What she had were some of her foster mother's head-shrink trade secrets and the know-how to apply it. Ninety percent of getting things done is in the initial presentation. Make them belief that they suckered you. The other ninety percent is simply attacking the details until it's solved.

Now she had to read Sensei Yori's mind.

"Everyone, remove your shoes."

The girls complied.

"Now, nose, tits, toes...all against the wall girls."

The girls all faced the wall.

"Up on your toes like a little ballet dancer. Up, Up."

Vee heard the sound of glass bottles breaking behind her.

"_Sumimasen_ (Pardon me), I was clumsy. I accidentally spread some broken glass under your heels so you will just have to stand on your toes for a little while. Well welcome to the _ninjutsu no_ _juku_ (ninja cram school). In the old days, we would be able to train you in relatively a short time. Back then we would have you for twenty four hours a day for the ten or twelve years. We did not have to enroll in girls in high school. Now because of schooling and the demands of knowledge imposed by society, we don't have time to slowly teach you everything you need to know. So we are going to work on several things at once. You will learn the limits of your endurance. You will learn the history of your clan. You all have mastered the physical part of martial arts.

"Today, we are going to work out your spirit. Vee-san, since you were not raised in Japan, you will be at a disadvantage. However, I will not coddle you. Girls, imagine if I am strict with Master Sensei's granddaughter...imagine how stricter I will be with you. Stay up on your toes. If you fall, I will make you run through the rice fields with glass in your feet. Now pay attention. I will lecture on a variety of topics. Some you might have heard what I am telling you before. Other's you won't. In all cases pay attention. You will be quizzed mercilessly. If any of you fail to answer the question, you all will stay here until you do. You all advance together or fail together, understand?"

A chorus of "Hai, sensei."

Vee wondered what they were having Ronnie do. Whatever it was, she hoped that it would not hurt. It was just beginning and her calf muscles were already cramping up.

* * *

Ronnie Possible was frightened.

From the look on the instructor's face, Ronnie knew that today was going to be a painful day. From hanging out with Vee all these years, Ronnie had somehow managed to acquire the basic moves of Chinese kung fu. However, he was never the kung fu nut like his girlfriend was. Today he knew that he was going to pay the price for his ignorance.

Someone tossed him a staff. He was surrounded by nine Japanese males with an instructor yelling at him in Japanese.

He did not know what was said.

"Huh..."

They obviously took that to be a _hai_, or yes and charge him.

"Meep."

It was his pathetic plea to not be killed. That was the only thing that came out of his mouth before half a dozen staffs made contact with him.

The instructor was up in Ronnie's face yelling, "I thought your mother would have taught you sixteen forms of kung fu. You had fourteen years of being near perhaps one of the best and you did not learn jack. Not even your father was as much of a fuck up as you are. Get the fuck back up and fight or I will ensure that your girlfriend will have to look somewhere else if she ever wants to get fuck."

It seemed that the instructor took Monty Python's skit on the F-word like a born-again Christian took to the Bible.

The instructor then gave another command in Japanese and this time Ronnie managed to block one of the blows before eight others knocked him down.

"You think your fucking enemies will attack you one at a time like you see in those kung fu flicks. _Oh please!_ Absofuckingusely. Stop fucking trying to think. Just fucking do it."

The repetitive use of the F-word was wearing down Ron Possible's patience.

The instructor yelled another command and Ronald Possible managed to last two seconds before he was knocked to the ground.

"You are supposed to be some fucking monkey master. These are my worst students and they are beating the crap out of you. What makes you think that you can protect those you love from a renegade master like Hirotaka? Again. We will fucking do it again and again until you either do it right or you fucking cut your fat belly. Again."

Ronald Possible stood up and faced the nine students.

The instructor gave a command in Japanese.

Ronnie Possible was again eating the earth.

"I did not give you fucking permission to sleep, Ron-hime (Princess Ron). You are so fucking ugly that when you were in the ugly contest you melted the judges' eyeballs. You are so fucking useless that I cry for your father. If he was alive, he would fucking grab you, kick all fucking shades of the rainbow of shit out your ass, paint you up, dress you like a whore, and sent you off to a john. Having a fucking whore for a daughter is much less shameful than having a son that can't fucking do a thing right. Your father would weep to see you today. Get back on your fucking feet. I think that staff is slowing you down. I think that gi is slowing you down. Strip down to your shit stained underwear. Drop the staff and see if you can actually learn to avoid getting hit."

The instructor did not wait for Ronnie to comply with his commands. He yanked the staff out of the boy's hands and tore off the _gi_ exposing his teddy bear boxers to the world. The other students were laughing at him as he notice that the fly was not buttoned. His organ was peeking out at the world.

"Next time, have the decency button your boxers. Let's not convince the girls that all _gaijin_ have microscopic dicks like you. Again."

The screams of panic echoed in the courtyard as Ronald Possible ran for his life with nine staff wielding students chasing after him.

"Remember to button your fly. That is better, Possible. Barely adequate, but if you can run faster than your opponent...running is a viable option. I just hope you can outrun Momochi. He runs marathons for warm ups."

One could hear the screams of pain as the American boy was run down, surrounded and had to suffer the penalty.

"Again, Possible. You are absofuckingusely going to do this again and again until you master the art of not getting fucking killed. Then we can go to step two.

Ronald Possible ran out the door of the courtyard with nine laughing students chasing after him and a smiling instructor just laughing at the sight.

Ronald Possible was not going to have an easy day.

* * *

Justine Paine rubbed her tired eyes.

The megalomaniac super-villains were not the primary targets of Global Justine anymore.

In their unauthorized quest to track down Drakken, Jim and Tim Possible ensured that the ranks of super villains were thinned out. Even long retired henchmen suffered mysterious fatal or nearly fatal accidents. Despite numerous investigations, there was no smoking gun that could link the Possible Twin to the grisly deaths and cripplings. Those that survived refused to talk about their experiences, but the physical signs showed that whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing.

Today, the primary targets of Global Justice were organized crime and terrorist syndicates. They investigated East Asian Triads, South and Central American Narco-terrorists, Islamic Jihadist Movements in Europe and the Middle East, White Supremacist Movements in the American northwest, Neo-Nazis in Central and Eastern Europe, Petty African dictators and the spawns of others who chased out, Russian Mafia Clans, and Japanese-American Yakuza. Some were penetrated by Global Justice Sentinels. Others were only observable from a distance.

Her promotion to the position of driver to Director Du meant that sixteen hour days were the norm. With the overtime, she was actually taking home more money than many field directors who were given compensatory time off in lieu of overtime. Her position was more akin to a chief of staff rather than some menial chauffer driving the boss from place to place. Her boss's time was valuable and it was her duty to handle all the routine stuff, leaving her boss to handle the important stuff.

The phone rang.

The caller was some midlevel functionary working the Russian Desk and surprisingly actually had something of importance.

Ninety percent of the requests to see the director were unnecessary.

The problem was that people had the lamentable tendency to take their minor difficulties to the top in an effort to avoid making a decision. That meant if Justine was not screening who got access, her boss would waste his time deciding what colors to paint the restrooms instead of the underling growing a pair of balls, making the decision, and moving on to something important. So ninety percent of the time, she would tell the person to wait, pretend to consult the boss, called the underling back, and inform the waste of space of the boss's decision. When it came to paperwork, she would read it, decide whether or not to approve it, and place her boss's initials to most of the paperwork.

However, this was a rare exception to the rules.

According to Echelon communication intercepts, the Russian mob was sending Iosif Ilyevich Botan to locate and deal with six hundred kilograms of missing opium. Iosif was on Global Justices wanted list since the late 1990's. An ex-_Spetsgruppa Vympel_ (Pennant) Senor Lieutenant, he now was a high price assassin. It was rumored that he was the assassin who kill numerous Russian mafia godfathers, politicians, judges, police officers, and two Global Justice agents stationed in Russia. He had the dubious distinction of being the second most wanted criminal by Global Justice. Only Drew Lipsky rated a higher priority.

Justine called the deputy director of operations and the deputy director of intelligence and the Senior Special Agent in Charge of the Special Tasks Bureau. She faxed them a copy of the report and a cover note with the words, _Realistic Options_. She walked in the report and told Director Will Du that everyone will be meeting in the conference room in fifteen minutes.

Justine then immediately called the secretary in charge of the conference room telling her that the director needed a secure conference room in ten minutes and to have plenty of coffee and biscuits ready. Everything would be ready.

She then text her daughter Constance's cell phone telling her that she would not be home tonight and to order some takeout for dinner tonight and to do her homework.

Her sixteen hour day was going to be extended to a minimum of twenty four.

Justine Payne opened the report and scanned the summery.

The death of Global Justice agents were a serious matter and everyone in the organization dropped what they were doing to get a _cop killer._

* * *

Iosif Ilyevich had not smiled since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

He once believed in the old system and even today hated each and every capitalist he ever met.

_Lenin once said the capitalist would sell us the rope to hang them with. The problem is that Lenin did not suspect that the Russians would be the capitalists. _

He was of an age where many would have long since retired. However, there was never much of a pension plan for a hit man. There were no golden parachutes but rather a long plunge without a parachute. He had too many secrets locked inside his head for his boss to let him live once he ceased to be useful.

Iosif Ilyavich had made extensive preparations for the day he might decide to retire, but he probably would never retire. He got to repay the world for betraying Lenin's dreams by killing capitalists, one at a time. Life was still too fun to retire.

Iosif endure the drive from Perm.

His current employer did not have an understanding with the regional police commander. Police Colonel Vasilii Heinrich-Schultz was not only a German, the most hated ethnicity in Russia with the exception of the Muslims, he was in the pockets of a powerful Russian mob clan based in Moscow and St. Petersburg. The problem was killing such a high ranking police commander would guarantee that the small Russian mobster that employed him would be on the losing side of a war. That meant the investigation would have to be very discreet.

_What's life without getting screw everyday by the bitch called fate?_

Iosif made contact with the vor's underlings. He tracked the progress of the journey until the last station...the station that informed the vor of the disappearance.

This was where his job began.

Forty eight hours later, he was in a village southeast of Zeya. It was not the nearest village to the transfer site, but it was the nearest police garrison. It was time for Iosif Mickalovich, the fur trader to start buying up some furs.

Furs were the only type of capitalism that Iosif was fully comfortable with. His family was in the fur trade for generations. He even had some distant cousins in northern California who stayed when the Russian's left. He grew up with furs. His grandfather and great grandfather taught him how to spot good furs and how the fur industry ran. Furs were as Russian as birch trees and vodka.

Iosif brought along his walking stick.

Inside was a miniature camera with German optics. Russians might dislike Germans, but no one in Russian would dispute that the German were perhaps some of the best craftsmen in the world. The camera was a Minox B and the cane was made by the East German Statsi (_Ministerium für Staatssicherheit_ or Ministry for State Security) in the 1960's but it was still as useful today as the day it came off the workbench. Inside was a 50-frame cartridge of 8 x 11 mm film. While there were newer, better cameras for such an undertaking, Iosif did not feel disadvantage in using this particular setup. This camera was an old friend since he first entered the dark waters of special operations.

For two days, Iosef negotiated a deal with the local fur trader. As he went around, he took numerous photos eventually filling half a dozen cartridges. He followed the local gossip, carefully prompting the traders to share with him vital clues.

There was no one smoking gun, but decades of experience hunting men told Iosef that his quarry was here and this was the center of his power. The local police officers were too well behaved. In any other village they would have shook him down for a bribe already. Even the young one, a boy who barely started shaving, was not drunk with his position like most Russian cops were. These men acted more like soldiers than policemen.

_These were the executors. Now to find the ring leader and his weakness. _

Two days was all that Iosef could spend without compromising his cover. He would be back soon with a few men that he could trust to follow his orders. He found his prey...a prey that made the hundred thousand Euro bounty a distant memory. He found the ultimate prize...He found her...He found Marie Romanov. He found the key to hundreds of millions of Euros. However, guarding her was not just any man...guarding her was a legend.

Iosef also found the legendary Cossack. He called himself Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev. Short brown spiky hair, blue eyes, and a reddish spot in his very short beard. Many assassinations were attributed to him, but for sure this was the man who managed to steal twenty million Euros in bearer bond, kidnapped and obviously seduced the Interior Minister's only child, and managed to evade one of Russia's most massive manhunts. That alone guaranteed that Iosef was facing a worthy opponent...something that he rarely faced. For the past decade they had him hunt minor Mafioso. Minor Mafioso had no qualms about attacking the weak, but they would inevitably coward in the sights of the professional.

What started as a hunt now became an epic adventure. This man was perhaps one of the best killers from the Western part of Russia. Hunting him...capturing him would be the greatest challenge ever. The trap would have to be perfect, otherwise the Cossack would end his days.

"Timofey Ivanovich, enjoy the last days of your life and the company of your wife. I will be paying you a visit soon." he whispered to himself.

Twenty million Euros would be quite a nice retirement nest egg. Timofey Ivanovich was his key to twenty million ways to begin loving capitalism.

* * *

The only time the two teen lovers would see one another was the few hours that the Yamanouchi instructors allowed for sleep.

Both were so exhausted that there was barely time to cuddle before sleep claimed them. What made it worst was the fact that Violetta to hide her addiction had to cut her sleep time even shorter to take her medications. The line between the waking world and the world of her dreams were blurring.

A week had past since the funeral and the rains were coming down. For some reason tonight, Vee was so tired that she could not fall asleep.

Violetta ran her hands though the stubble that passed for Ronnie's hair. It made his ears stick out like handles on a frying pan. The outdoor activity was making his skin tanned. Her fingers traced the bruises on his body.

Vee on the other hand was whiter than a sheet of copier paper. She had not seen the sun in days. Not that it mattered. She had the skin that would never tan, just burn. Sensei Yori was perhaps crueler than the sensei that ran Ron ragged. For Vee, handling weapons was almost automatic. With the exception of the big heavy weapons that were much to heavy for most humans to lift, each one seemingly was an extension of her will. She knew that physically she was in much better shape than the girls and in a one on one could wipe the floor with them.

Vee initially had no problems in an ancient ninja game called Ascending the Mountain. It was a modified free for all and Vee being the stuttering kid in elementary had long since earned her PhD in brawling since the second grade. Mrs. Bloom gave her that damned family tree project and let the other kids know that she did not have parents. The second graders worked her and Ronnie over. Ronnie shuck it off, but Vee never forgave. She dedicated her life into becoming one of the more vicious fighters of Saint Sebastian Catholic Grade School.

Six years of Chinese martial arts paid off. She had an edge. The Japanese students were used to fighting other Japanese styles. They had no experience in fighting someone who knew Chinese kung fu and actually had experience in applying it in real world brawls. If she was just a mediocre student, they would have long since beat her. However, she was never average. She had to be the best and practiced incessantly to be the best. She could not beat the senior instructors and fighting the junior instructors was an iffy thing. So the Yamanouchi ninja school called upon an ancient tradition.

Ascending the Mountain was perhaps the most cunning exercise in sadism ever devised by instructors at Yamanouchi. It was a centuries old tradition.

Everyone was given a number.

Unlucky student number one would enter the cage unarmed. Number two and three would enter each with a _hanbo _(3-foot short staff) in their hands. The first three students would fight it out until the instructor call in students four, five, and six. Number four would have two sticks, number five would have twin tonfa (similar to police batons), and number six would select any practice weapon she preferred. It you can steal a weapon from your opponent, then you could use it. When the instructors felt that the survivors were wearing out or someone was gaining the upper hand, students seven through twelve with some real nasty toys. It was everyone against everyone until only one girl remained standing. The weapons were blunted and weighted to avoid killing a student, but there was still a potential for fatalities. The other girls ganged up on the new comer. To make things harder, Yori would throw in a tear gas grenade or distraction device. She would roll in steel ball bearings causing Vee to fall on her butt. Sometimes, the pretense of fairness was over as Yori would use a kid's slingshot to launch rocks at her.

The physical training was brutal. However, the instructors added a twist. They would yell questions that the girls would have to answer. Failure to answer the question meant that something unpleasant was being dropped into the cage. The other girls in the cage would then temporarily band together to get the one who messed up.

Then when Vee started answering the questions correctly the instructor started making her memorize silly thing and having her repeat them back just as she was forced to dodge a blow or coughing up after getting a dose of the tear gas.

Vee wanted to complain at the unfairness of it all. Every activity, it seemed that she was being singled out for more punishment.

"Vee-san, who was the first clan mistress of the Yamanouchi?"

Vee had never heard of a clan mistress. The only way she even knew there were thirty six generations of clan masters was that it was mentioned that her grandfather was number thirty six at his funeral. As far as she knew this was Japan and hell would freeze over before a woman would be allowed to take control. She was going to answer in the negative, but something told her that she already knew the answer. Vee went with her gut.

"Nakamura Toshi, Sato-sensei."

The instructor then went on to the next question. Positive reinforcement was a myth in this place. You did something right, it was expected of you. You did it wrong...you got introduced to a world of hurt.

Vee answered the next question wrong and got hit in the side of the head with a tear gas grenade just before it went off. Instantly, the free for all became an all against the American kid.

_Ninjas go on missions for a vacation away from their training._

Vee wondered when the instructors were going to drop in poisonous snakes, rabid dogs, and pissed off scorpions into the cage.

She had once heard that long ago, the clan would surround the cage with dry rice straw. Then they would set the straw on fire, the weapons would be sharp, and only one girl was allowed to come out alive. She had once thought it a bullshit myth. Now she was reevaluating her believe in myths.

She looked down at the sleeping form of Ronnie Possible. Despite the bruises, he was lucky to not be in the same phase of training that she was in. They were conditioning his body to automatically perform the moves that she had long perfected. Training the body was painful, but once you learned that pain was weakness leaving the body you would survive. They were messing with her mind.

Tomorrow, the girls were going to play a game of hound and hare. Vee knew that she was going to be hare. If her fellow students caught her, she would be beaten up. She needed sleep. She needed to conserve her energy, but sleep eluded her. Tomorrow, would began the next phase of her training. Tomorrow this time, she would be hiding somewhere on the mountain, playing the hounds and hare marathon.

* * *

**Explicit Violence Warning **

_Make it stop, make it stop._

She was being dragged along the floor at high speed. She had to half run half hop to keep up with the long strides of the monster. His hand encircled her upper arm. There would be bruises, but there was nothing new. Since he took her sister and her, the child had been covered in bruises.

_Make it stop, make it stop. _

The monster effortlessly slid her battered body in the dark corner like a professional bowler throwing the bowling ball down the slick lane for a perfect strike.

_Make it stop, make it stop. I promise to be good. Make it stop. Make it stop._

She wanted to tell him that she would be good. She wanted to convince him that she would be good. However, no matter how good she was he still hurt her.

_Make it stop, make it stop. _

However, her mouth would not utter a word. To speak without permission would only result in more pain.

_Make it stop, make it stop._

The back of her head hit the wall. Her brain exploded in pain and colors.

The master's face was red. The flush of the face told her that whatever she did would only result in more pain. She cowered into a tiny ball. Her mind was locked in fear.

_Make it stop, make it stop. Please, I will do anything you want...just make it stop._

"Why are you wasting your time crying? Crying is for the weak. The weak only get eaten by the strong. Only the strong shall survive. Do you want to be weak?"

She wanted to be weak. She wanted to be a little kid again. She wanted her only worry to be fighting her sister over who was going to wear that special blouse. She wanted to return back to her life as a weakling.

"Answer me cunt!"

She wanted to defy him. She wanted to tell him the truth that she wanted nothing of his strength. However, he would then hurt her sister.

"No master."

The master's foot lashed out.

"Then why were you comforting your sister and crying. You were to train. Only by training can you be strong. Only the strong is worthy of life. Only by learning to accept and give pain can you be strong. I know you hate me. I know you wish for me to die. The only way you can beat me is to be strong. Pathetic, your aunt was stronger than you. She at least had the courage to tell me to fuck myself before I broke her."

The master's hand lashed out so fast that the child could not see it. Her head bounce on the floor and the darkness was taking her.

"Did I give you permission to sleep?"

The look in the master's eye...the child was beyond frightened.

The master lowered his pant's zipper and peed on her, waking her.

She couldn't breath. She couldn't move. She was paralyzed.

He struck her in the gut and reddish fluid escaped her mouth. Her vision collapsed until the master and the pain he summoned were the only things in her universe.

_Make it stop, please it hurts too much. Please._

Her silent pleas for mercy were ineffective.

It hurt so much that she could not breathe. However, the master rained down blows on her bloody, bruised, pissed soaked body.

_I can't breathe. I promise to be good. Just stop hurting me. _

The girl coughed as her body was starting to shut down. She was choking on her own blood and spit. The world was a blur. Tears, oxygen deprivation, and shock were all conspiring to rip away the little control she had over her nine year old body.

_It hurts_.

Her stomped on her with his heavy shoes.

_Please God let me die._

She curled up into a tight ball in a futile effort to protect herself. He kicked her until not one part of her body was unbruised and not one part of her soul was untouched by misery.

_Please God make it stop._

He would not stop. The effort he expended in punishing her only intensified.

She wanted to make it all stop.

Then God seemingly answered her prayers. The stomping suddenly stopped. The master grabbed her by the jaw and looked in her eyes.

"Are you a good little slut like your sister and aunt?"

She weakly replied in the positive.

"Then don't disappoint me and be my good little girl."

_I promise. Just don't hurt me anymore._

The master smiled, but the smile stopped short of his eyes.

He opened his hands and her body bounced off the blood soaked concrete floor of the warehouse.

"Then practice your _katas_. The next time your sister cries, you will beat her until you both are unconscious. You will beat her out of love, because if I have to do it, this will just be a sample of the foreplay that you both will taste."

There was no sign of emotion in the last sentence. The scariest thing about the master was his ability to instantly snap in and out of rages.

The broken girl did not understand everything but she understood enough. She crawled over to the dojo and faithfully practiced.

She looked over at her sister.

_Please stop crying. I...I don't want to have to hate you. I don't want to hit you. Don't cry until tonight. Don't cry until sleep time. I promise to be nice to you then, but don't cry now because he will make me hurt you._

Her sister could not stop crying.

_Please don't._

She heard the footsteps of the master approaching. She didn't want to do it. She did not want to hit the only person who she loved in the world.

She struck her sister.

It was as if a damn broke. All the pain, anger, self hate was released. She could not stop herself.

"I hate you. I fucking hate you. If you did not want bubble gum we would have not gone to the store. We would not be here and still be safe at school."

She struck her sister again.

"I hate your fucking crying. Because of you, I got the shit kicked out of me."

She struck her sister again. She felt the pain, but she did not care anymore. Maybe if she beat her sister to death, maybe she would die too.

She kept striking her sister yelling at her to stop crying. She accepted the pain.

She did not see the master smile. She was locked in her own self hatred. She was locked in a vicious cycle of venting her self hatred at her other self. Every time she struck her sister, she was hurting herself. She wanted to die. She wanted it all to end.

She fell to the ground as her mind felt the full import of her blows upon the only one who still loved her return to her via the brain implants.

She whispered to her crying sister, "Forgive me...please kill me...please kill me," as the darkness took her.

* * *

Police Private Gregory Alekseevich Zhukov squatted into a crouch. He keep his back vertical, moved forwards, and quack like a duck. He was wearing thirty kilograms of scrap metal sewn into a canvas vest and was carrying eleven kilograms of wood above his head.

_Three hundred meters...three steps to two meters...four hundred fifty steps. _

"I can't here you, quack louder."

Gregory did.

_Four hundred twenty five more steps to go. _

Gregory Alekseevich forced himself to move forward, quacking wildly with every movement.

_Why oh why did I agree to this! _

He made the mistake of telling his boss that he wanted to be trained like his boss once was trained. What he forget was that Spetsnaz training was perhaps among the hardest in the world. And the boss told him that he was going to get the training that the Spetsnaz should have gotten.

Gregory's arms were now shaking with the strain of holding the heavy log over his head.

"Don't drop your wood. You can stop quacking and start singing the log song. But you still better be doing the duck march."

"Yes sir."

"Don't call me sir, I worked for a living. Now sing."

Gregory started signing the LOG song. It was the second song he learned in English. The first was the ABC song.

"What rolls down stairs, alone and in pairs, and over your neighbor's dog? What fits on your back and is great for a snack, it's log, log, log. It's la...og, la...og. It's big, it's heavy, it's wood. It's la...og, la...og, it's better than bad...it's good."

Gregory's mentor, Timofey Posibeev, looked down on the kid and snapped out a single command, "Louder!"

"What rolls down stairs, alone and in pairs, and over your neighbor's dog? What fits on your back and is great for a snack, it's log, log, log. It's la...og, la...og. It's big, it's heavy, it's wood. It's la...og, la...og, it's better than bad...it's good."

"Police Private Zhukov, don't drop your wood. Pretend it's your girlfriend. You just down dump her in the hay stack and expect her to spread her legs. You got to lay her down gently before you get to screw her."

Gregory laid the wood gently. His heart was pumping wildly. He knew the next part, twenty four-count push-ups in rapid succession.

"Load your rifle. Semiautomatic fire only. I will say a color and you will engage all targets of that color only until I say the next color. I want two rapid shots per target and then move to the next fast. If you slow up, I will make you do sumo squats up the hill. In combat, your weapon will be on full automatic fire. Still, you will pull the trigger the same. Two quick bursts to ensure your target stays down and rapidly move to the next threat. Clear the range."

The paper targets were hung on wooden limbs and were swinging in the wind. Kohl walked behind the firing line and announced the range was clear.

"Range is hot. Red."

The sound of rapid gun fire sounded in the village.

"Remember to breathe and keep your eyes moving. Don't allow fatigue to give you tunnel vision. Breathe, scan, identify, aim, and kill the threat. Blue. Remember that a warrior always takes the fight to the opposition. Remember that the only way an outgunned warrior wins is by attacking. You might have to fight a temporary defensive action, but in the end to win you must become offensive and take the fight to your foe. Establish relative superiority over your opponents. Spirit triumphs over numbers. White."

Gregory hit the magazine release lever and within two seconds reloaded a fresh magazine.

"Halt. Give me forty."

Gregory flicked the safety lever up all the way up and started doing forty four-count pushups. His arms were wasted and he was sore.

"Semiautomatic fire, white targets."

Gregory flicked the safety lever down all the way and started firing. He wondered what new level of sadism his commander had planed. He wanted to complain, but he saw the scars on his commander's back. If the old man can survive that, then he could survive anything.

* * *

**A/N: **The Log Song is from an old Ren and Stimpy episode.

* * *

Ronnie Possible and Violetta Lee woke up in a golf course. On them was a note on Hello Kitty stationary.

_You are on a golf course owned by a Yakuza owned company. _

_If you are caught, the two of you will get to attend a family reunion with your father Vee. _

_You are outside of Nara. Remember that killing the tame deer for meat is not acceptable. _

_Your assignment is simple. I want good photos of everyone in the golf course. Pay attention to those missing fingers or sporting tattoos. I want you to be sure to get good photos of their guests. Then I want you to slip out without letting anyone know you were there. _

_Remember to ask me about the thief's apprentice when you come back. _

_Good luck in getting back here! _

_Sensei_

Thankfully both of them awoke in the bushes.

The driving range was lit and even at this time in the morning there were men smacking golf balls.

The two teens looked at one another.

Vee was dressed in her trademarked jeans and Bundeswher workout tee. All she had was her inhaler in her pocket. Ronnie was dressed in jeans and a black tee shirt. On his wrist was an ancient Casio G Shock watch. Next to him was a paper lunch bag. Inside were a digital camera, extra batteries, an extra memory card, and two thousand five hundred yen, the equivalent of twenty five dollars.

Ronnie Possible examined his girlfriend, "What are we going to do?"

Vee smiled, "First I have to take my meds. Then we take the photos and get out."

The smile made Ronnie uncomfortable. It was the smile that meant one of two things...wild passion or a major scam in the works. The smile widened.

_Fuck no!_

Vee put on the quivering lip. She leaned over to give him a kiss. Ronnie knew that he would lose if their lips made contact.

"Wait!" he whispered.

She ignored him and her lips made contact. He had lost.

"What do you want me to do?"

"We are going to strip. I am going to take my meds. You are going to hold me down and make sure I don't make any noise. Then we are going to scratch off number sixteen off our list. After that we are got to get dress and take the photos. We are getting out of here. Then we are going to do a little fishing in the locker rooms before we leave here."

Everything sounded so matter of fact like it was all a lark.

"And then I am going to deal with Sensei Yori for abandoning us here."

Vee's knuckles cracked in an ominous tone.

"What's number sixteen?"

Vee's eyes rolled in the back of her head. She leaned over and whispered a single word in his ear.

_Vee's definitely off her rocker._

_Anything is possible for a Possible, Ronnie. You are still a Possible._

The problem is that Ronnie in many ways was his father's clone. Especially when it came to pulling off the big ones. If Vee was not there, he would already be long buried next to his father. However, it was Vee that seemingly got him in the most trouble requiring her to bail him out.

_Pray that Murphy-san is not in Japan today._


	51. Breaking Point

**Moving Onwards **

**Breaking Point **

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

**Review or I will put you in a penguin suit, **

**and toss you into the water near a pod of **

**hungry killer whales! **

**A/N **

**Author started a new job and won't be able **

**to update as often as he would desire. **

* * *

_Los Angeles National Forest__, California_

It is time to say goodbye to the life he knew.

Everything was in place to perform a disappearing act like an illusionist.

His mother was buried three days ago.

His mother's lawyers managed to preempt the lawyers from the rest of the family.

The elaborately constructed network of trusts hid enough money to ensure that if he wanted his life could be one of idle luxury. Then his mother's lawyers prepared his will so that when he disappeared, her relatives would never see a cent. A network of attorneys and trust administrators would ensure that most of the funs would go to charities. The domestic ones were all legit. The foreign ones...some were legit...others were simply fronts to stash away enough cash for his next life. The network was put together under the guidance of the banker who formerly handled the funding for black operations conducted by unnamed intelligence agencies. Not even God himself could smell the rat.

The suicide note was written. His beloved Austin Mini Cooper S was positioned. He drank more than enough Beefeater gin and imported German beer to fuel a competitive drinking contest between a regiment of British Royal Marine Commandos and a regiment of old school German mountain troops respectively. There were more than enough open containers to attract attention from the local police, California Highway Patrol, or park ranger. He ensured that he puked up more than enough samples for a thousand labs to run DNA testing. He recently donated blood so that there would be a known sample.

He was curled up in the back of his auntie Tara Strong's old minivan trying to not to barf all over her seats.

"You overdid it. You could have died from alcohol poisoning."

Robert closed his eyes. He suppressed a moan of misery. He was in no condition to argue with the doctor, even if she knew him from the moment he came out into the world. Maybe he could die of alcohol poisoning and avoid having to do all this.

Robert Rodger Rockwaller will be declared missing. His disappearance would be the stuff of media hype and then soon everyone will believe that he is dead.

Robert Daniel Xavier, of Bakersfield, California, will find employment at the Lazy C Ranch in Montana as a ranch hand. Robert knew that it was not an easy life. In his first season at USC, he had meet more than one corn fed boy form the Midwest to underestimate the strength such a lifestyle required.

_Why am I going to be a cowboy? _

Robert listed off all the reasons he could not.

He could not even keep a hamster alive as a kid let along handle something like a cow.

His mother would not even let him have a dog.

He could not ride a horse without falling off and breaking his arm.

He could not stand waking up in the early morning.

He was afraid of things bigger than himself.

He hated the scent of cow pies.

He could not enjoy getting smash and had to force himself to drink tonight.

He hated pick ups, especially the type they try to turn into monster trucks.

He hated country music

He closed his eyes praying that he would somehow sober up without feeling too much pain.

The radio was playing in the background. It was set to KNX1070, a local new, traffic, and weather station. However, Robert did not hear about the pile up on the 210 eastbound at the junction to the 2 East. He heard something else.

_Momma, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys. _

Robert really started to hate country music.

* * *

_Moscow__, Russian Federation_

Moscow was refreshingly corrupt.

The whole nation was refreshingly corrupt.

Most Americans seemingly had a vacation fetish for Club Med or Carnival Cruise. Nice, safe, with carefully arranged levels of excitement balanced with the knowledge that you are safer than you ever will be in your morning commute. Scuba diving in crystal clear waters was about the most dangerous thing most American tourists could think off.

Chief Warrant Officer-4 Edward Miller Hertzberg, retired US Navy Seal, was not like most American tourists. He loved taking _adventure vacations_ in the shit-holes of the world.

Especially when someone very rich was picking up the tab for the entire trip.

After retiring from the Navy, Edward Hertzberg had hunted terrorists in the Middle East and Central Asia. He had kidnapped drug lords in Central and South America. He hunted down and terminated two illegal arms dealers who did not get the message. He had exfiltrated two war criminals in Serbia and dropped them off bound and naked in front of the Hague. His freelance record was twenty seven and two. One died of a heart attack before the mission could be launched. The other resisted and had to be terminated. Those were only loses because he want the extra cash for bringing in them alive. He quarry were either in jail or rotting someplace.

Today Global Justice was financing his vacation in Russia.

In the 21st century, there were times when politics and face messed up a perfectly good manhunt.

There was no way the Russian would let Iosef Ilyavich Bodrianko, a former Spetsnaz officer once tasked with infiltrating the West and leaving ticking tactical nuclear devices and killing enemy commanders, be allowed to be taken from the Russian Federation and interrogated. Such killers were too valuable and knew too many state secrets from the days of the Hammer and Sickle.

To sent in Global Justice agents or even contract the job out to some special operations personnel would cause an international blow up. Even hiring a PMC, or private military company, like Blackwater Security Consulting, Military Professional Resources, Inc, or Global Risk International would cause an international blow up. PMC's worldwide was an often all too used way to wash one's hands of highly illegal paramilitary operations. So Global Justice hired small, discrete outfits like Hertzberg's.

Years of risking his neck and then having some sit down to go wee-wee staff puke deny the chance to kill the bad guy because of some geopolitical issue wore him down. During the William's presidency, the State Department had ran roughshod over the Department of Defense. Ninety percent of the US Special Operations Command had retired or transferred to other branches of the military service in disgust. Hertzberg had twenty four years and decided to collect the pension.

Two weeks after signing off his final papers, seventeen other special operators had banded with him to form Hertzberg Consultants. They officially trained business executives in leadership and international culture. Unofficially, they bagged some of the highest bounties the US Government and Global Justice put out for the past ten years.

Today was a five million dollar operation...ten if Iosef Ilyavich is brought back alive to squeal like a stuck pig. However, Hertzberg knew the likelihood of Iosef going without a struggle was about as likely as pork becoming the hottest selling meat in Saudi Arabia and Isreal.

With Hertzberg were five men of Eastern or Central European descent. These men could blend in with the indigenous population anywhere in Europe and parts of the Middle East. All have participated in black ops. All could speak Russian plus three or four other languages with the appropriate accents.

Each man was wear the blue and grey tiger strip uniform of the _Otryad Militsii Osobogo Naznacheniya, _or special purpose detachment of the _militsiya_ (police), more commonly know as OMON. No Russian beat cop would think of interfering with OMON. It would be like the legendary, overweight Santa Monica parking meter maid, interfering with the Los Angeles Police Department SWAT team on a call out. Each man was armed with a suppressed AKSU-74, or a suppressed 9mm Bizon submachine gun. Tom Marcus, the primary sniper, was armed with what appeared to be an IZHMASH SV-98 bolt action sniper rifle and his spotter Richard Harris was armed with a Durganov right down to the markings.

However, none of these weapons were made in Russian, despite the markings. Each was custom made by an outfit that did not have an official name. The US special operations community nicknamed the machinists _Santa's Sadistic Elves_. Each weapon was built to resemble the local fashion, but was made to higher standards. The ammo was specially hand loaded for accuracy and terminal ballistics. In short, it looked Russian, but had the quality control normally expected out of a machine shop run by an anal retentive, stereotypical German engineer.

Each man studied the photos. Each man knew his assignment.

Marcus and his spotter Harris would provide over watch. Dan Corelli would fly a Mil Mi-2 the firm bought out with an African dictator they sorted out five years ago. Sam Xavier, a former explosive ordinance disposal technician, would be the door breacher and EOD man if need be. _Doc_ Ellis would sedate the target. Joseph Lodl job was to protect Doc Ellis as the Doc would try to inject 5 milligrams of Haloperidol into the target.

The team planned to exfiltrate via helicopter to a modified fishing trawler the US Navy used for electronic reconnaissance. The helicopter will be ditched at sea. It was a reluctant decision since finding helicopters without a mass of traceable red tape was a nightmare. Santa Sadist Elves were will to mess around with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobaco, and Firearms, but they were not willing to mess around with the Federal Aviation Administration. Hence they won't make aircraft parts.

Not even the Russians would let surplus military aircraft slip off their books without a notation in the proper log.

Hertzberg was not happy with the exfiltration plan though up by Global Justice. He simply wanted to take Iosef to Saint Petersburg and smuggle him out via Finland. However, the time window to conduct the operation was short and so the team was stuck with the existing plan. There was no way that the team could set up a reliable relationship with the local smugglers or pay off the local police in the short amount of time they had.

Hertzberg was fluent in Russian. However there was not an exact translation for FUBAR. The closest was _ya pe vizde_, or literally _I am stuck in a very deep vagina_. Having spent his youth as a US Navy Seal, Hertzberg had spent his youth being stuck in very deep. If it was not in the field, it was with a string of disastrous marriages. He had divorced three times and eighty percent of his take-home went to the exes. Now he rented his bed-warmers one night at a time. STD's are a bitch. However, some things could be cured with the right antibiotic, but alimony is forever, especially when two of the judges preceding over the divorces were militant feminists transplanted out of San Francisco into San Diego.

"Gentlemen, get ready to party with the local wildlife. Ya pe..."

"_Ya pe.._." was the collected response from the rest of the team. In the real world perfect ops are the rarity rather than the rule. To survive in the FUBAR zone required training, instincts, and praying that the fickle finger of fate will choose to sate its lust with the arse of the opposition rather than you.

* * *

It was four thirty in the morning when Ronnie Possible found out that Murphy-san must have the world record for the most frequent flyer miles.

Waking up next to your girlfriend with a fondness for playing hide the salami was normally a great thing. Rolling around naked on the soft earth with said girlfriend usually meant a very good thing in the minds of most teenage males. However when the two of you awake in the bushes of a Yakuza owned golf-course in a land where you don't speak the language, can't fit in with the locals, or even figure out what the signs mean...it's not a very good thing. Worst, you have no money and if the local Yakuza ever find out that you and the head boss's daughter have been...

Ronnie Possible was hyperventilating. There was a technical term that his instructor would use in this situation..._fucked_.

The worst part was that Vee was right now flying on cloud nine. She was utterly addicted to Red Crystal and she had to take it now or risk going into fatal seizures later. Vee was small. She was four feet, eleven and _don't forget the 3/4-inches_ tall, about eighty pounds soaking wet, and tiny. However, trying to keep her pinned down was perhaps the toughest challenge.

Normally, a boy five foot seven inches and 165-pounds would have little problem pining down such a tiny girl. He had developed immense strength working on the Lazy C Ranch last summer. He could toss hay bails and wrestle steer in preparation for branding. He was every high school football coach's dream for an incoming freshman. Ronnie was a fast kid, surprisingly strong for his size. The football coach at Middleton High already told him that being the Mad Dog mascot like his father once was, was definitely not in his future. He had inherited his father's speed and dodging ability along with Grandpa Possible's tall athletic build.

However, despite all that...he was slowly being outclassed by a girl.

Vee was deceptively strong for her size and had internalize so much fighting in her short life that Ronnie was swearing that he was trying to wrestle a UFC-Pride Fighting champion. The hardest part was that he was trying to not hurt her, just hold her down so she did not rattle the bushes, and alert any security guard to their presence.

To compound everything, this trip that Vee was on was not one of those good euphoric trips she usually underwent. This was the type of trip that caused some users of Red Crystal to play dodge the semi on the local highway. Vee was trying to fight him off like he was a monster.

His face was bloody where she had clawed it in an attempt to get to his eyes. She was trying to scream forcing him to lock his mouth over hers. He covered her mouth with his hand but she bit down.

_Calm down...calm down. Now I know how mom felt when Vee and I met in Pre-K._

However, Vee was in full panic mode. In the depths of drug induced confusion, the young girl did not recognize that her boyfriend was pinning her down at her request. She was attacking him, trying to hurt the thing pinning her to the earth.

She head butted him giving him a nasty bruise and cutting his eyebrow. He was bleeding all over the place.

Eventually she stopped struggling. Her movement ceased. She had slide into the depths of unconsciousness. Her eyes rolled into the bag of her head. She had finally passed out but not before doing a number on him.

Ronald Possible was panting praying that when Vee woke up she would be her normal self. He did not know how much longer he could pin her down and keep her quiet.

Ten minutes later, Vee inspected him.

"Crap...you are going to need sti...stitches."

She was actually in tears.

"It's not your fault."

"Then whose fault. I was the one who head butted you and tried to claw your eyes out. I bit your ear."

Ronnie held his girlfriend.

"You thought I was a rapist...you did not recognize me. You fought to protect yourself."

It was as if all the energy was sucked out of her.

"I..."

Ronnie knew that Vee was in the middle of a bad crash. This was perhaps the most dangerous time. This was when many addicts to red crystal committed suicide. It was a matter of serious debate in the medical community which kill more addicts...overdose...withdrawal...or suicide from depression.

"Vee I need you. We are on one of your father's properties..."

That word snapped off the depression and transformed the girl into anger mode.

"Don't you dare call him my _father_," she whispered, "I would rather be the guest of honor at an anal gang-bang than acknowledge him as daddy. He is nothing more than a murdering rapist."

"What now?"

Vee critically examined the gear before announcing her verdict.

"We broke the camera, no photographs. I, we need to take a shower and get out of here. I doubt they will just let us walk out the door."

"Couldn't we..."

Vee shook her head, "This is Japan. Even being a halfa, I stand out of the crowd and you... I doubt there are many tall, red head gringos in Japan. If I only knew how they brought us into this place. We need to take a train, but we need cash. Twenty five hundred yen is only twenty five dollars. I saw some of the prices...twenty five hundred yen won't even buy us a Beef Bowl at Yoshinoya's."

"So what."

"Ess Cee Aye Em, I bet that the men's locker rooms have all kinds of cash. Remember how I taught you to quietly pop the lockers at sku...school. Just remember to wipe everything down before you move to the next locker. I got another job to do."

"What other job?"

"Only getting rid of the evidence...Perverts probably tape everything going on the locker room. I need to get the tapes so they don't know who we are."

"But..."

"Do you want the cops to be waiting for us at the airport when it's time to leave? Besides the video will have all the photos we need. No I will go with you. If I could not fight you off, what chance do I have with them...Just promise me to break my neck before they get to me."

Ronnie looked at her.

"Promise me Ronnie. It's cancer important...I rather die than to end up like my real mom."

Ronnie lied, "I promise."

He knew that she knew he lied.

She knew that he knew that she knew he lied.

However, sometimes a lie was all that was needed to generate will. Will generate action. Actions generate results.

* * *

**Wrong-Sick Scene Warning **

**Child Murder **

Stacey would not stop crying. Nothing Susan could do would stop her older twin sister's sobs.

"Please Lacy Stacey," Susan said using her sister's nickname, "Please, he will hurt us if he catches you crying. He will make me hurt you again."

Stacey shook her head.

"You lied to me. I know that you felt good when you hit me."

Susan did not want to remember, but she did.

_Susan did not understand everything the master commanded, but she understood enough. She crawled over to the dojo and faithfully practiced. _

_She looked over at her sister. _

Please stop crying. I...I don't want to have to hate you. I don't want to hit you. Don't cry until tonight. Don't cry until sleep time. I promise to be nice to you then, but don't cry now because he will make me hurt you.

_Her sister could not stop crying. _

Please don't.

_She heard the footsteps of the master approaching. She didn't want to do it. She did not want to hit the only person who she loved in the world. _

_She struck her sister. _

_It was as if a damn broke. All the pain, anger, self hate was released. She could not stop herself. _

_"I hate you. I fucking hate you. If you did not want bubble gum we would have not gone to the store. We would not be here and still be safe at school." _

_She struck her sister again. _

_"I hate your fucking crying. Because of you, I got the shit kicked out of me." _

_She struck her sister again. She felt the pain as the transmitters implanted in her sister's head sent the signal to the receivers implanting into her head, but she did not care anymore. Maybe if she beat her sister to death, maybe she could die too. Then there will be no more pain. _

_She kept striking her sister yelling at her to stop crying. She accepted the pain. _

_She did not see the master smile. She was locked in her own self hatred. She was locked in a vicious cycle of venting her self hatred at her other self. Every time she struck her sister, she was hurting herself. She wanted to die. She wanted it all to end. _

_She fell to the ground as her mind felt the full import of her blows upon the only one who still loved her return to her via the brain implants. _

_She whispered to her crying sister, "Forgive me...please kill me...please kill me," as the darkness took her. _

Susan wanted to deny the incident.

Susan wanted to be the sister that Stacey deserved. However she knew that no matter what she said, both the girls knew the truth. When Susan snapped, something inside of her broke...something evil. A part of her started enjoying the act. Susan looked at her sister.

"I..." Susan was going to lie and both girls knew it.

Stacey looked at her sister.

"You must live. No matter what he does, you must live. I can't stay here. I am not strong like you. I can only do one thing for you. It will hurt, but it's the only way I can save us. As long as you are alive...I'm alive. You can hate. I can't hate. I need your hate. I need your hate to do bad things. I need you to learn to be bad so you can hurt him. One day you will see him dead for me."

Susan knew that tonight would be the last night the twins would be together on this earth.

"He will use you like he used me."

Susan nodded. She had seen and due to the implants _felt_ the monster rape her sister.

"I won't let him be your first."

Stacey kissed her sister. Susan knew that it would hurt. However, unlike the monster, Stacey was gentle. The twins were too young, too traumatized to derive any enjoyment from the act, but Susan knew her sister was trying to make sure it did not hurt like the first time Stacey was raped.

It soon was over. Stacey tugged down there. Susan bit her lip to avoid crying out. Susan felt the tear and blood leaking out from _down there, sliding along her thighs_.

Susan's knew that her _flower_ was plucked. She would never again be a good girl. However, she knew that she would never be a good girl. She would become a bad girl like the aunt that no one was suppose to talk about in her family. She would one day kill herself like the aunt who hung herself in her prison cell. Susan wished that she had her aunt's powers, but she did not have any powers yet. She was stronger than her classmates, but she was not as strong as a man. She was not strong like daddy was strong.

_However what more can he do to me...kill me and end my pain. _

Stacey leaned over and bared her throat to her younger sister Susan.

"Do it."

Thirty seconds later, Susan bit down into the side of her sister's neck drinking her blood so that her sister could not be brought back to this hell. The pain would be unbearable to most humans. However, having suffered the amount of physical and mental abuse that the master inflicted on the twins taught the twins that they could survive pain. Susan forced herself to continue drinking down her sister's blood. The pain only made her more determined to ensure that Stacey's pain would end today.

The death throes told Susan that Stacey would be forever gone.

Stacey Groningen died in her sister's arms, broken but defiant. Defeated, yet Stacey had won a victory of sorts.

_Stacey won't be hurt anymore. _

Susan faced the door with her sister's dead body in her arms and her sister's blood in her mouth. She could feel two lines of blood rolling out the corners of her mouth like a vampyress in a cheesy 1950's horror flick.

_I will live. I will live long enough to rip out the monster's still beating heart out of his chest. I will drink his blood and shit on his grave._

The master would never have her first time. The blood running down her thighs was another pleasure that would denied her master. Her sister ensured that the master would take that away from Stacey.

When the master walked in, Susan actually smiled and laughed when the master punished her. The twins had won a victory...albeit at a great cost. One lost her life...the other her humanity. He broke her left arm in anger as he rape her body for the first time, but her mind no longer registered the pain anymore.

Susan knew that she had lost any claim to being human.

She had become as much of a monster as the master. She would learn his ways. She would kill whoever she had to kill to become strong enough to kill the monster. She would let the master believe that the master controlled her. Killing will become as much of her as her dark eyes. Once you kill those who you loved, there was no ever being human again. Killing would become as instinctive as breathing. She would break all the rules and soon establish her own power. He caged the wrong monster and soon she would slip out her cage to claim her trainer. Then she would punish the world that betrayed her.

Susan only wished that she was the one who died. There is no greater hell than to live with a dead soul.

* * *

Jen looked on as a young man wearing a beat up leather jacket and battered jeans walked towards the helicopter hanger. He wore a beat up, red ball cap.

_He looks like a young...whoever that Latin guy who stared in that old Viking movie 13th Warrior. The one who play the Arab...Antonio Banderas. Mawh told me that the new hand is the son of an old family friend. With a body like that...please don't let him be gay! _

"_Senior, como se llama?" _

He replied back in perfect Angelino Spanish, "_Me llamo Roberto Daniel Xavier, y usted?" _

"Jen."

He looked at her, "I didn't expect anyone here to _habla_ _español._ _Soy de Bakersfield, California._ Your teacher must be a Tex-Mex. I recognize the accent."

"Are you..."

"Nawh...a bit of Italian...a bit of Black Irish and Scottish...and a touch of pitbull but my mother never told me how that was physically possible. Just pick up Spanish living in Cali plus four years in high school. Can you please point me to the Possible's hanger?"

"You must be my 3 o'clock. My mawh don't trust whirly birds too much and my pa is too busy prepping a shipment. So I stuck teaching you to fly and you are to..."

The young Adonis shook his head.

"Be the new mechanic for the Lazy C ranch."

He extended his hand. His grip was firm and yet not hard like a squeezing contest. His hands were manly and yet not scuffed up. However it was the eyes that sealed the deal. She looked up into a pair of teal eyes that stood in great contrast to his tanned skinned.

Jen smiled.

_Maybe he can teach me how to really kiss a boy...a man._

The young man was bigger than most of the men working on the ranch. And yet, he was not thick or bulky. He moved like a hunting cat...light on the feet but extremely powerful. He was perfect. Muscles without grotesqueness. Polite without being too reserved.

_He is mine. He just does not know it yet._

Jen had a campaign to map out.

The only thing she knew so far was that fate gave her first crack at the Adonis in front of her.

All she knew were five things. He was Robert Daniel Xavier. He was the new mechanic at the ranch. He was the son of one of Aunt Kim's old friends and would work for more than just a season. From the bulge in his crotch that he was trying to hide behind his carryon, he was straight and thought her pretty. And that she was one way or another going to claim him like her Cousin Ronnie's girlfriend Vee claim Ronnie.

_Mrs. Jennifer Xavier...JX...Just Exciting. _

* * *

Vee never felt so...naked.

With the exception of tourists, US military personnel in Okinawa, and a few ethnic Koreans, Japan was pretty much a homogenous society. Here everyone had dark hair, dark hair, and similar facial features. To these folks all whites looked alike. However, she had enough similarity with the typical Japanese to be scrutinized for the small differences and yet had enough of her mother's Hispanic and Caucasian features to be immediately recognized as different...as not Japanese. Even her walk was not the same. She was too aggressive to be a Japanese girl.

In a society that expected a certain degree of conformity and meekness, differences were immediately noticed.

She could not just walk into a shopping mall and disappear into the crowd like she did in Middleton.

Toss in the fact that Ronnie was bloody...this was mission impossible.

She watched the doors as Ronnie started stealing money out of the lockers. Unlike America where the lockers would have padlocks, these lockers were open and Ronnie had no problems collecting the take.

The problem was there were things other than money and clothing in the lockers. The duo now had three SIG Saur P226 9mm pistols plus ammunition. In Japan, guns were almost unheard of unless they were attached to the waist of a uniformed policeman. However, there were no police id cards or uniforms in the locker.

Vee peek though a tiny crack in the door and saw a group of heavily tattooed men drinking and laughing. Each one of these men, she knew, ultimately answered to her biological father. A part of her wished to lash out and shoot them, but there would be no way Ronnie and she could escape.

"Ronnie, hand me the pistols."

"Why?"

"They will know that we were here if they are gone. Don't worry...I will fix them."

Violetta dug into her memories. Her mother's best friend was a cop and had show her how to shoot and clean a pistol. All she had to do was figure out how to dissemble the SIG Sauer pistols and remove the firing pins. No firing pin...the gun would become nothing more than a Teutonic paperweight.

The SIG was different than the .40 S&W GLOCK Tita Lori introduced Vee to a year ago. However, they were similar enough that Vee knew where to look for the disassembly lever.

Vee was working on the first pistol when the door slid open. Thankfully, whoever walked in did not see them.

Vee could hear someone scratch his ass. She quickly formed and discarded the mental yuk that popped into her mind. The joking was louder. She head the patter of wet footsteps as she crawled into one of the lower lockers trying to cram herself into the tiny space. Even being as small and flexible as she was it was a tight fight.

_Ronnie, I hope you can pull off a miracle._

Vee's only defense was the pistol in her hand. However, using it here was not a viable option.

_I won't let myself be taken...I won't let myself be taken...I will kill the first couple and then...Crap why do I have to be Catholic!_

Not Catholic enough to keep her virginity, but too Catholic to take advantage of the only way out if things go to hell. Violetta started praying that the butt scratcher would turn around and return to his pals.

* * *

The sound of gunfire was not an uncommon occurrence in the woods outside the village.

Here hunting was a part of life. Most of the meat sold in the market was wild meat. Young boys learn to hunt before they master reading. Firearms in Siberia were as necessary as cars in Los Angeles. You could not survive without having one.

However, the sound of automatic gun fire was different matter. The only automatic weapons in this village belonged to the local police garrison. The only other automatic weapons were an AKSU-74 the wife of the local police commander keep stashed and the village armory which was underneath the local police headquarters. Everyone else just had old bolt action rifles and shotguns.

_Fuck! _

While that was not a very astute thought, it was a succinct description of the tactical situation. Timofey Posibeev barked out an order over the police radio.

"Report!"

One by one his men reported. It was not calm. Each one was screaming into his lapel microphone as he was firing on the bandits.

Tim's eyes locked unto a pink mist.

Crack.

One of his men was down and it was a sniper. There was a two second delay between the shot and the sound.

"IA drill."

The remaining policemen fired a wall of lead towards the wood line as they one by one scrambled into the police station. Tim counted heads and knew that he lost Belz. With a sniper, holing up was not practical.

Tim looked at Gregory. Gregory Alekseevich was seventeen and until a couple weeks ago was just a boy. However, the boy had earned his notches.

"Gregory...I want you to slip out the back and get the women and kids to a safe area. Do not come back for us. We need to know that they can't get to us via our families."

The kid looked at his police commander. He wanted to object...however, he knew the old man was right. Someone had to protect the innocents.

The kid replaced the magazine in his suppressed AKSU-74 assault carbine and topped off his other magazines. He grab four smoke grenades. He pulled the pin on two and tossed them out the window to block the northern view. He then turned around and ran out the south exit.

Tim looked at his other two men.

"We are going hunting. Belz is not going to Vahalla without some company. Head east and swing north. I am going west and up to meet you north of the mine turn off. I only need one that can talk."

The other men grimly nodded. They knew the look in his eyes. They knew that the only other man in the village with the same look is the old torturer for State Security in the days of the Hammer and Sickle.

It was time to go hunting.

Tim Possible closed his eyes and took a deep breath. They had found him. They would hunt him down and try to get him to speak. They would seek Marie and Svetlana. They would destroy the only thing he had left that made his life worth living. He knew that that odd were not in his favor. He knew that today he would die.

He opened his eyes.

"Today is a great day to die. Them or us. If it's us...I will go out a true Cossack fighting to bitter end. Them or us...there is no other way."

"Them or us!"

"Go."

Instinctually, the three split up. Tim was alone as he dashed to the west dodging bullets and returning fire.

_Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, _

_I shall not fear, _

_For I am the meanest son of a bitch in the valley. _

Tim had tasted heaven and hell. Death...his death...no longer scared him. What scared him was failing. What scared him was failing to protect the ones he loved.

Instinctively, he loaded a fresh magazine and flicked the fire control selector to the middle position for full automatic fire. Tim dashed from the village into the woods.

Suddenly Tim found himself laying on the earth looking at the sky. It was a beautiful sky. He remembered an old song going, "Hate Every Beautiful Day."

He hated today. He was fell by an enemy he could not see. He was out in the open bleeding into the earth. Somehow the earth felt warm and inviting. It feel like the soft blanket that his mother would put him and his brother into as toddlers. The earth was calling him to take the long sleep from which no man ever awoke.

Tim coughed up some blood waiting for someone to provide the coupe de grace. However, there was no second round. They were using him as bait to get others to expose themselves.

_There is no one else! _

Tim looked down at his weapon. It was functional. That was all he needed to know.

Tim rolled up and staggered to the woods. Someone was shooting at him. He felt two hits that almost knocked him down. However, he made it into the woods.

The blood told him that he needed medical attention soon. However, medical attention was a fantasy. There was only one path ahead of him. Valhalla and the only way into Valhalla was via the blood of his enemies.

Tim Possible ceased to be human and became something more and something less. He noted movement and instinctively squeezed his trigger twice. Two three round bursts struck the target and a blood curdling scream announced to the world that death was walking in these woods.

The others fire at him as he fired at them. They fought to live. He fought to take them with him to hell.

_The Devil will be happy to see you all. Just tell the fat bastard that I will be coming soon after I sent you all to see him first._

There came a point that the body's pain centers shut down. There is a point were the body will ignore the limits. Tim Possible was there. He was bleeding to death. He could barely move forward, but forward he moved taking territory and the lives of those who sought to destroy the small corner of heaven that he slaved to create.

However, there came a point where the body could no longer fight. Tim was shooting. Suddenly his arms fell. The weapon fell to the end of the sling. Tim reached down to pick up the weapon and fight. However when he did, he fell face first into the dark, warm inviting earth.

Tim closed his eyes wondering if he bought the others enough time and luck. He prayed, not for his soul, but for the souls and safety of the others who depended on him. Maybe God would forgive them for having him in their midst.

* * *

Despite growing up in Southern California, the land of the amusement parks, Robert was not a fan of wild rides. When his pals dragged him to Six Flaggs Magic Mountain in Valencia, he whimpered on Ninja. He cried on Revolution with its single loop. On Viper with its seven loops, he actually crapped his pants.

He was cursed with a psychological problem. If he was the one behind the wheel, Robert could and would push things to the limit. The problem was that if someone else was in control, he was very much prone to anxiety and nausea. He was afraid of flying and had to take two pills to be able to fall asleep. Otherwise the crew would probably have to place him in restraints.

Combine the fact that this is the first time he ever rode in a helicopter with the fact that his pilot was a fourteen year old show off, Robert was a very sick young man.

The second the helicopter landed, Robert somehow got out of the seat without unbuckling himself, took three steps to the nearest building and crashed face first into the concrete landing pad.

The next thing he saw was an older version of his pilot dosing him in the face with an ice cold bucket of water.

"It's safe. You are on the ground."

Robert tried to get up, but the women held him down to the ground.

"Wait. Let me check you out for skull fractures. You got a nasty concussion."

Robert tried to say something, but he did not know what to say.

"Relax. I may not be a brain surgeon like my cousin's mother, but I did my time in an ER. Wait here for a couple minutes until I can get someone to help you up to your room."

Robert closed his eyes. He vowed to never leave the earth again.

* * *

Thankfully, the butt scratcher was more interested with the contents of the drink cart than the boy hiding underneath it.

Ronnie Possible heard the clink of a bottle and the sound of the wet footsteps returning to the bath. He slowly crawled out and looked on as his girlfriend Vee un-pretzeled herself and crawled out of the lockers.

He was about to open his mouth, but she made the universal sign for silence.

She pointed to the drink carts and motioned for him to grab a couple bottles.

She gathered all the cloths and bundled them up into a canvas laundry bag. Then she put four bottles of alcohol into the bag.

The pistols went into the top of the bag.

_What the hell!_

The problem was that Vee was operating from the top of her head rather than a set game plan. Vee was a genius in improvising, but having gotten in trouble with her, Ronnie knew that Vee was not perfect.

Vee motioned for Ronnie to move along the wall as she moved along the opposite wall. She was obviously searching for something.

Fifteen minutes later, Violetta obviously found what she was looking for. There was an all too familiar brown truck. Unlike the trucks in the US, this one did not have a lock on the roll up door in the back.

Inside were boxes and a spare brown uniform. It was too small for Ronnie, but it was too big for the girl.

Clack, clack, clack...the sound of footsteps resounded on the concrete. The door slid open and Vee found herself swinging the canvas bag. One of the bottles shatters, but the driver was unconscious.

"Drag him inside. Find duct tape and tie him up good. Do you know how to drive?"

Ronnie wondered what the hell were they going to do when he saw Vee change into the UPS brown uniform. She put on the ID and put the cap low on her head.

"We are only majorly finger banged by the finger of fate. I don't know how to drive a manual transmission."

Ronnie looked at his girlfriend, "I can only drive choppers. All I know it to make it go, you push the pedal on the left, The one in the middle is your brake. Move the stick up and left and them press the gas when you let go on the left pedal."

"Good enough. Let's get out of this place. If he wakes up, whack him on the head with a heavy box."

For the next fifteen minutes, Ronnie heard Vee cursing out the Japanese habit of driving on the wrong side of the road.

He wanted to look out, but Vee whispered a command to lay low. The ride was jerky. Between this being the first time Vee ever drove combined with the difficulties of learning in a UPS van, the young girl was swearing up a storm in half a dozen languages.

Ronnie took a peek out from behind the curtain.

Things were bad. It was the Japanese version of rush hour. Up ahead was an accident with a legion of Japanese cops directing traffic. Murphy-san was working overtime.

"Crap...I can't read this kanji crap."

Now the pair did not know where the hell in Japan they were.


	52. Stranger in a Strange Land

**Moving Onwards **

**Stranger in a Strange Land **

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

**Message from Pat Squared! **

**Enjoy this St. Patty's Day, My day **

**So review **

**Otherwise St. Patty might just come over **

**And play Shenanigans with you! **

* * *

_Mirror World..._

Violetta Lee remembered the phase from William Gibson's book, Pattern Recognition. She remembered reading about _Kanji_ _Land_ and the main character, a cool hunter's, phobia of brand names and logos. It detailed Cool-hunter Cayce Pollard journey to find a mysterious artist...the book spoke to parts of the young girl that she did not know existed.

Since Violetta's family tree experience in Mrs. Bloom's second grade class, she felt like she was only watcher from behind the one way mirror. Like Pollard, she traveled through the world and yet was not a part of it. She did not belong in the world like the other children did. Every so often she would set something into motion and find herself watching as if it was just a video. Alone, she felt detached...not empty...not soulless, but detached from the world that constantly betrayed her as she betrayed the boy caught up in her net.

She looked up in the rear view mirror. The mirrored sunglasses she stole from the now unconscious UPS Driver tied up in the back of the brown UPS van shielded the inhabitants of Kanji land from her non-_ninhonjin_ green eyes. However, she was the one staring out behind the one way mirrors into another mirror to see the crouching form of the one thing that seemingly connected her back to the world.

"Ronnie, we got to ditch this ride."

"How are we...?"

"Grand Theft Auto Middleton...Why buy when you can jack? It's not like we are going for full tilt 7-alarm with Team Possible after us."

Ronald Possible Stoppable remember playing that game until he raked up seven stars. His virtual persona was whooped by a virtual copy of his parents...down to the heart boxers his father wore when his father's pants would slip down. His mother sued and Rockstar had to recall the game. However, Vee still had a copy. Vee always had a copy, pirated of course, of every banned game she ever heard of.

Violetta examined her best friend boy friend squirm and felt guilty at the thought of committing yet another crime.

Violetta _knew_ that had ruined his life. She had roped him into her life of lies, deception, and now crime. In her quest to have or maybe even feel something she did not deserve...she had slowly suffocated everything that made him special. Because he was her friend...he found himself a loner alienated from the other boys. Because she had to be the best...he did not push himself to live up to his talents so he did not threaten her accomplishments. Because she was afraid of letting him go...she had taken his heart along with his virginity. Because she had taken his heart...he now was caught up in her very own slice of hell.

Violetta grabbed the napkin and coughed up into it. She carefully tossed the used napkin into the plastic grocery bag that they were using as a trash bag. She did not have to examine the napkin. She knew that there was blood in her phlegm.

_Vee...Ronnie has to know. You own him that much for being in your corner all these years._

She know she own him more than she could repay in a hundred lifetimes. She had sucked everything good from him. She had seduce him to rope him into her messed up life. She owed him the truth. However, every time she tried...she choked up.

_Ronnie, I'm dying._

However, no matter what, she could never say the third word to him.

It was hard to admit that you dying to yourself, let alone the one person that you needed.

_Fourteen years old and knowing that you will never have a prom night...Ain't life a kick in the head, followed by one in the ass? _

No one quite knew what to expect...she least of all. The other Red Crystal babies all died before their second birthday. Like her in her infancy, Red crystal babies were worse than colicky babies. She somehow outgrew it. The others would eventually be silenced, go into a catatonic state, and eventually die. She had somehow survived fourteen years of existence hooked to that poison. The docs called her lucky and had written dozens of case studies about her and why she had not yet succumbed to the poison. She had been repeatedly bled to provide samples to the lab rats and biotech vampires in an effort to find the source of her survival.

However, no one lives forever.

It was the little things at first telling her that fate was finally catching up with her. Signs that only the girl in the brown UPS uniform could sense in the beginning. Then the doctors picked up on it. They wouldn't tell her to spare her the emotional trauma. They told her foster mother that she was not getting better. Then later they told her foster mother that she was getting worse. She remembered the last visit.

_Tita Berta's eyes were red. Her left eye was darting faster than the right. _

_"What is the news?" _

_The lie came out of Tita Berta mouth. Tita Berta said everything was okay and that Vee could expect a life as long as any. _

_Violetta spotted the lie even before it escape her foster mother's mouth, "Okay." _

_The doctor, Tita Berta, and she all knew that she knew her time was coming up. However the lie had to be preserved. It was easier than getting the brick to the face. Her fate was like the ultimate drink in the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy...a brick to the face with a faint aftertaste of lemon. The lie was the lemon that make the brick to the face bearable. Lies are only for those that you love. _

_Later that night, after Tita Berta went to sleep, Vee examined the paperwork that Tita Berta got from the doctor. It was now on paper...signed by the MD...it was as official as any notarized document...Violetta Lee was slowly dying. Her body was starting to reject the medication that was required to keep her alive. _

_God hated her. Her mother had to hate her...why else would Violetta's mother give up living after seeing her. Her mother must have known that she suffered to only bring a flawed girl into this world. Vee had wished that she simply died as she was programmed to die. _

_She did not consider herself lucky. Lucky was dying before you have something that made you want to live. Lucky was dying before you knew that you could never be fully human like the other kids. Lucky was not being stuck behind the one way mirror that trapped your soul and asphyxiated it until you were no longer one of masses._

"Ronnie, I need you to get into the spa...spare UPS outfit. Keep the cap on. Everyone remembers the uniform...not the man."

_I don't know how many lesions I have left, Ronnie._

Vee took in a deep breath and bit her lower lip wondering just what she was going to do next.

_I can not freak out. If I freak out, Ronnie will freak out. If he freaks out here, he will be in trouble. Come on girl, he is depending on you to figure a way out of this mess._

However, all Vee could think off was to ditch the van...

That would have to be enough for now.

* * *

Anger...rage..._fatherly pride_.

Hirotaka Yamanouchi could not settle on which emotion to give his attention to at this moment.

He looked at his three naked Yakuza bodyguards trying to cover their shrinking genitals with their hands at they knelt.

"You fools...I actually trusted you with firearms. Am I a baka? Am I a baka? AM I A BAKA! ANSWER ME?"

Then Hirotaka laughed.

"We are not in America with their National Rifle Association ensuring that we can just go down and buy a pistol at the corner store. If you knew what I had to do to get you each a pistol...I should..."

He kicked them and spat in their face.

"I would ask you to slit your belly, but then...no way in hell I will let you get the honor my father got. You have seventy two hours to retrieve those pistols and bring me those two kids unhurt...At least the girl. Don't underestimate the difficulty of the task...this one is just about every bit as crafty as me. She is my daughter and if she is hurt in any way...you won't be needing your dicks anymore."

The collective shock on the three yakuzi thugs was priceless as the credit card ads went.

The surveillance video showed an _Amerkican-jin_ redhead boy and a half-Japanese girl sneaking into the men's locker room. They showed the butt scratcher not spotting the boy under the drink cart and the girl. Hirotaka examined the way that the girl held unto the pistol. It was obvious that despite her youth, she knew how to use it and better yet was ready to actually pull the trigger. There was a killer instinct behind those green eyes.

He suppressed a smile.

_She is a killer, just like daddy. She just does not know it yet. These three are just cannon fodder. I can't await to see my daughter kill her first man. _

The Yamanouchi had trained his child. However, she did not follow the Yamanouchi book to the letter like everyone else who walked out the doors. She was almost ready to follow him into his world.

_Soon, she will be mine. However she won't just do something because I say so. I need leverage._

He thought. He pondered. He replayed the footage in his head. He calculated all the angles. He plotted half a dozen...no a dozen different moves in his head...discarding and discovering possibilities until he was satisfied. Soon every step his child will take will be on the path that he shaped for her.

_Love...the boy...the boy is her weakness and her strength._

"As for the boy...do what you must, but nothing permanent is to happen. His father was one of my most respected rivals...Having a chance to defeat his son is an honor too great for you. I want them both alive...unhurt...relatively unhurt. Otherwise, Susan-chan will use you as ballast for her kicking bag."

The faces of the three Yakuza were white. This new boss was not like the others. The other bosses were traditional. One knew where one stood. Failure meant the loss of a finger or in the worse case seppuku. Hirotaka had taken over using unorthodox methods. Now failure was a lot more painfull.

They had seen what Susan-chan and her sister did to the last failure. Being turned into a piñata by a pair of nine year olds was beyond any shame that any Yakuza could contemplate before the rise of Yamanouchi-san. Susan-chan was psychopathic pedophile's delight. A cold killer in a nine year old cute package. Hello Kitty molded by Satan himself.

The little girl giggled and pointed at one of the men, "_Ojisan _(uncle)...may I have _this_ one to play with now."

Hirotaka looked at the disturbed little girl, "Later, you will get all three if they don't perform."

The little girl giggled, "The bag for you. The hooks for you. And for you...something very special. You're so _cute_ when you turn white. I see the look in your eye. You want to love me. I promise to love you back. It won't hurt..._too much_."

Hirotaka smiled, "Oh yes...the girl you are chasing is this one's cousin. Don't underestimate her because she is an _Amerikan-jin_. She in her way is more ruthless than Susan-chan. Unlike Susan-chan, Vee-chan is not yet tamed."

* * *

"What do you mean you lost them, Kenji-san?"

The old instructor was pale. In twenty seven years of being an instructor at Yamanouchi, not one of his charges managed to escape his sharp eyes.

Today this line on his impressive resume would have to be deleted.

"They vanished. The back up radio beacons at still at the drop site and have been retrieved without incident. All I know is that Hirotaka knows they are there and is sending out his minions to find _his daughter_."

Yori closed her tired eyes. _Yes a test had to be done_...but Kenji Akaguchi just had to give them the worst possible of tests. Only those who are graduating get this test and even then only the best got tested this way.

"They can not get far. Two Amerikan-jin outside the usual tourist traps and one of them can't speak Japanese. You will find them first and bring them back here. We can not bury Master Sensei's remains until his granddaughter is here. I know Violetta. She is perhaps one of the more talented con artists I have ever met. This is something...a whisper of the spirit that tells me that Vee-chan is the jade inside the stone. Scamming...she will scam. She will pull the biggest scam she can think of. When it goes down, I want you to remove our students before any police entanglements ensue. Horoshi-san will be tasked with diverting Hirotaka's attention."

If Kenji Akaguchi was not Japanese...he would be fidgeting like a six year old boy who really had to go to the toilet, but he was Japanese. The old Yamanouchi instructor merely bowed his head a fraction of a millimeter in shame.

"I will have them soon...unhurt or I will be no more, mistress."

"No. No more seppuku. We have an old comrade turned mortal enemy. You must train the next generation of Yamanouchi ninja. I remembered when you terrorized me and my classmates. I need you to do the same for the next generation and whip them into shape."

Yori examined the old man, "Why did you place those two in this test?"

"Only the finest blades are tested the most severely. They are truly their father's children."

Yori prayed that Kenji's observations were correct.

* * *

Gregory Alekseevich stared down the front post sight of his AKSU-74 at the dying man.

The man was old...Old enough to be one of those former KGB-types from the former regime.

Whoever this was, the young police officer knew that the man would not live long enough to be interrogated by the old state torturer turned village doctor.

Behind him were his charges. Behind him were the wives and children of his fellow policemen. The boss's wife was similarly armed, but he was the only trained one left. This was his village and he was not going to let bandits take it over.

"Mrs. Posibeev. Get the others down to the basement; should there be a need, there is a tunnel we use to move around from house to house during the winter blizzards. God be with you."

However, the boss's wife was perhaps the only creature in this world more stubborn than the boss.

"No, Gregory Alekseevich. God will be with us all. We are a family. We live together and we fight together."

"Then take the kids. I need to know who sent these killers. The old man on the floor doesn't have much time. This is something that the kids should not know."

Gregory Alekseevich inserted a fresh magazine into his assault rifle and handed it to a short, Mandarin woman. She was Belz's wife.

"Loaded, full automatic fire, just aim and pull the trigger."

Gregory withdrew the folding utility knife on his belt.

However, the boss's wife held back the young man.

"He would not wish this on you. Timofey thought of you as his younger brother."

Gregory examined his boss's wife. Her eyes were red from weeping.

"They killed Belz. They killed everyone who stood in their way. I must know who they are so we can take the battle to them. I promise you that soon they don't kill again. We must find the head and sever it."

Fifteen minutes later, the young man had a name. The living was made into meat...the type that Hannibal Lector was most fond of.

Looking down at the mutilated corpse, Gregory Alekseevich knew why Timofey Posibeev and the doctor had those eyes. He knew that he was now marked. He had cut out his own soul along with the man's flesh. Gregory knew that now he had the eyes of the damned.

An eternity in Hell was a price that he was willing to pay to save the only family he had left.

* * *

Will Du listened as a team of Global Justice Senior Agents were briefing him on Operation Flypaper. Iosif Ilyavich was perhaps one of the most experienced hit men employed by the Russian mob. Unlike the Italian mob, there was no commission...no boss of bosses to coordinate the activities of individual Russian mob clans. So they spend more time fighting one another than the authorities.

Iosif Ilyavich was of the old generation...a dying generation who was trained up under the hammer and sickle and blooded in the Soviet Union's last war in Afghanistan. He normally would not rate the attention of Global Justice. However, five years ago, Iosef was involved in the deaths of two undercover Global Justice case officer and three dozen locally recruited agents. Will Du and Global Justice had long memories.

Worse for Iosif, Will Du was not gentle like Betty Director. He did not believe in non-lethal law enforcement. Dead was just almost as good as alive.

Edward Hertzberg headed perhaps the best PMC that GJ could contract. Unlike Blackwater or Executive Outcomes...Hertzberg Consultants always delivered the goods and yet managed to stay off the radar. Unlike the other Private Military Companies...there will be no Wall Street Journal/Time Magazine articles about Hertzberg Consultants.

Iosef would be there dead or alive in seventy hours...or Hertzberg and his crew would be dead...deniably dead in the Siberian wilderness.

The waiting was what made Will ill tempered. His underlings were repeating the same set of nothing that he heard all night. Even with Justine Payne acting as a buffer, there were some calls that could not be ignored. A big donor from Wall Street wanted to speak to him and he had to be chipper.

"May I suggest some eggs and bangers?" the voice on the other end replied.

"Sound good, but the doctors are sticking me on the healthy routine. What is it that you require?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Our friend in Japan will be outed as the MID-Killer. One of my subsidiary labs was contracted to do a DNA test. The sample comes from the Colorado State Bureau of Investigation and was couriered over by the FBI. They filmed as my tech made the match. It will be on the news tomorrow morning at nine AM eastern standard time."

Will thought for a second.

"You are clean according to the boss...Bonnie Rockwaller is dead. Should you get in trouble...You were cooperating in a GJ investigation into Rockwaller's criminal undertakings. That is why you kept her on the payroll at Global Justice's request. My associates will courier some backdated documents with all the seals and signatures. With her son committing suicide...there will be no one left to contradict our story. Close down your illegal operations for six months until this blows over."

That would not change Drakken's fate...not with Robert still alive. Insult the boy's mother and the boy will strike back. Adding in the son of the man he killed and the daughter of a sidekick he betrayed each seeking their vengeance, a liability will be zeroed out in due time.

There was a silence, "Yes sir."

The voice on the other end was very unhappy. However, Will did not fear betrayal. All Drakken knew was that he was just a voice on the voice that relayed messages from someone called the Coordinator.

"Kenji will be informed. Any other news?"

"I will keep on schedule. Do the civic duty routine. Ten million to Global Justice. Ten more to the Red Cross. Five to local schools. Plus an additional fifteen to our pals in Washington."

Will Du smiled like a certain cat in Alice in Wonderland. He got Drakken to fund a good chuck of the organization that once hunted him down.

Drakken had learned how to take over the world. There were a surplus of politicians willing to whore themselves out for donations. It was disappointing just how cheap these politicians were willing to sell themselves out for.

Will Du sat back and plotted his next move. He was the newest of the Omegas. Only one more step and he could become the Light Bringer.

He looked at the face of his driver. Justine Payne was the daughter of the Light Bringer and the mother of his child. In a royal family, he would be a prince consort. In the Project...he did not know how things would play out.

With the exception of his own father, he had never seen the face of another Omega. When the omegas met to initiate him, everyone else was wearing masks and flowing robes that concealed most clues as to one's identity including sex. All that he knew was that there were only twelve Omegas of which he was now one. The only time he would see an omega's face was when a new one would be initiated into the mystery of faith.

Will Du wanted...needed the Light Bringer's throne. It was his birthright. His father would have been the next Light Bringer if only the old man did not have a heart attack. Will Du wanted the project to follow his path. The others were too cautious. Their plans would take centuries. He wanted to see the Project brought to past in his life.

Will looked upon the young lady that was his key to ascending the throne.

Justine Payne was perhaps the only fitting consort for one such as him. Like him, she had superior genetics. She was ruthless, cunning, everything that one could wish in a queen. Everything save for loyalty. In that Justine's only loyalty was their child.

When he let he know that he was willing to continue their prior relationship, she made it abundantly clear that the affair in the past was a one time thing done for the good of the Project. The Project had their cross and she did not want to pursue a further laison.

However, Will wanted her. Will wanted his seed to merge with her. He wanted to take her and take her. Only one other lady gave him the same feeling.

_Kim Possible._

Despite the scars from the ambush that killed Ron Stoppable, Kim Possible was still a hottie as the expression went. Despite a child, she had a figure that aroused even gay men.

Will Du imagined taking Kim Possible and Justine Payne. He imagined their bellies swelling with his children. He imagined that one day...all the children fathered within the Project will be of his blood. He would ensure that his line will run the Project.

Will Du had eleven omegas and a Light Bringer to topple. This summer, they will meet. This summer, he will take over.

Will Du thought through what he needed. This summer...this summer things will be quite interesting. This summer, he will arrange for a test unlike any other. Ronald Possible, Violetta Lee, Jen Possible, Robert Rockwaller, and even his own daughter Constance Payne will be tested in their own little slice of hell.

* * *

Ronnie Possible was hyperventilating.

"Vee, I need you. I think we killed him."

_Fuck, fuck, fuck! There is no way we can hid a body. _

Vee took a deep breath.

She reached over and felt for a pulse.

Vee exhaled.

"Weak, but he's alive. We keep with the plan. Grab the tie downs and tie him to a tree. I will take care of the van."

The UPS driver was heavier than expected.

"Small even for a Jap...can't weigh more than a buck twenty."

Ronnie had to complain.

"No crap. Why do you think it takes two of us to move his ass? Also don't say Jap...only Japs can use Jap."

"But..."

"I am a halfa-Jap as you are halfa-heb. Now lets get ramen boy tied up and go.

Thankfully he backed off the second she went into the sarcasm zone.

"Go back to the van. I want to talk with our pal. He is waking up and I don't want him to know we are who we are."

Ronnie ran back to the van as Violetta extended a stolen pistol into the waking man's face.

Vee made sure she was wearing the mirror shades.

"_o-name desu ka?_"

What is your name?

"_Kasukabe Tatsuto desu_." he replied.

I am Tatsuto Kasukabe.

"_Watakushi-tachi wa Anarchy Angels desu. __Kore wa pistoru no SIG Sauer desu, ka?_"

We are the Anarchy Angels. This is a SIG Sauer pistol, yes?

There was silence. Then the sound of excretion was heard in the forest.

No translation was needed. Pissing and crapping in one's underwear was universal in any language.

"_Two days, Kasukabe-san. Or else_"

She pointed the pistol at his crotch.

Two days or else, Kasukabe.

Vee deliberately gave the man what she termed the Japanese Hello City bimbo laugh. She waved bye-bye like a little girl.

Vee walked away from the tied up UPS driver careful to walk in baby steps like any _nihonjin_ (Japanese) girl would be taught. The only sound was that of the birds, the traffic on the road, and the sound of a grown man crying.

_I should feel bad. I terrified the poor man. However, I feel...aroused. No not aroused...but excited._

Vee started to feel alive again.

Vee was going to play Grand Theft Auto Japan.

* * *

The Japanese expression for 'let them talk', _iwaseru_, is the same expression for 'make them talk.'

Keibuho (Assistant Inspector) Miyazawa Toshishiro of the Nara Prefectural Police spend fifteen years in the Japanese police force with the last seven as a detective in Nara City. As such, he had perform, _iwaseru-do_, the art of making suspects confess by physical and psychological methods. Unlike America, the cops in Japan answered to no one.

Nara is a conservative city.

Always was...as far as Keibuho Miyazawa was concerned always will be. This was the last place where fad reached in Japan and the last place where fads will fade. Unlike Osaka and Tokyo, Nara was relaxed, slow.

However, that was Nara yesterday.

Today, Assistant Police Inspector Miyazawa Toshishiro was in a quandary.

At two in the morning, traffic police found a burning UPS van. The local fire company put out the first and their investigator called him over.

"This one was deliberately set. I called UPS and they said the driver had not come back."

Because of the Japanese tradition of building their houses with wood and paper, arson was more treated more seriously than in the West. In the old days, even a fire that accidentally got out of control meant death. Today, it was life in prison, but no one could ever call a Japanese prison a country club.

Toshishiro called upon the locals to scour the woods were they found the driver wearing only his underwear, sobbing hysterically, tied up to a tree.

It took time, but Toshishiro found out that the driver awoke to a girl with a gun to the driver's face claiming to be an Anarchy Angel.

The mention of a gun...that upped the ante. In Japan, only the police had firearms. Even the rank and file of the Yakuza did not have guns. Only a few licensed body guards and a few foreigners with diplomatic papers had guns on Japanese soil. Now his sleepy office was being overrun by the Japanese National Police Special Operation Unit.

The members of the local criminal element were being round up, vigorously interrogated, but not a one knew about the Anarchy Angels.

Suddenly, there was a rash of pick pocketing, burglaries at local stores, and two assaults. Also someone started graffiti bombing the town.

Two A's with wings and a horned halo started appearing all over the sleepy town.

The worse attack on was on the back of a local police office. They actually did it in the back of a working police station...the shame was unbearable. Unlike the United States with video cameras everywhere, most Japanese businesses did not have surveillance cameras except in the bathrooms and dressing rooms for the satisfaction of the perverts working as security guards.

Now the local electronics store was doing business like the end of the world was coming.

The Anarchy Angels were deliberately challenging the police. The question was who were the Anarchy Angels and how did they get guns.

* * *

Ronald Stoppable Possible didn't know whether to run or stay.

Since he was five, he had been getting in and out of trouble with his best friend, now girl friend, Violetta Lee.

In nine years, he learned that Vee was wound more tightly than any coiled spring. He tried to figure her out sometimes, but every time he did, she surprised him.

However, he knew when Vee was acting kittenish; her mind was on some uber-scam. Unlike the other kids, Vee seemingly lived to be wild...she was in her way untamable. It was this that made things very exciting.

Ronnie was much like his father. He was a slacker. He was not fond of physical exercise save for that incurred in the bedroom. He had his own assortment of phobias. Bugs, monkeys, public speaking...While he was not as crippled as his father...he still was afraid of danger.

However, Vee was danger personified. She was the dark woman of lore. She was a siren that lured him into acts and situations that Ronnie could not even imagine doing in the virtual world. However, her ability...her intimate knowledge of all his weaknesses meant that he would follow into hell just after a dip in a tub of napalm.

"Vee, if we keep this up, they will know we are here."

Vee smiled and shook his head. And then she palm slapped him in the forehead, giving him the universal sign for _duh...are you that slow?_

"Ronnie, we want to know that we are here. We are lost. We are like deer on the first day of hunting. All I know is that we are in Nara. The Yaks know that we are here and will be looking for us. Don't you think they will check the trains?"

Ronald Possible examined his girlfriend's logic.

The problem was her logic when it came to scamming was unbeatable as four of a kind on the poker table. His problem was that more than one, they had been burned and suffered for it back home.

"Then why are we going to pick pocket here?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson. What do cops do when they witness a crime?"

Ronnie gulped, "Arrest us!"

"Wroong, nice try. Honey, they _try_ to arrest us with the emphasis on the word try. We bounce them and claim their gear. The local cops will know that two ringers are in town. Yori-sensi will know that we are in town and that we will keep bouncing around until they come for us. Anarchy Angels will have a blast before vanishing back into the darkness from where they came!"

The only word going through Ronnie's mind was _meep_. Not a very impressive word. Even his father had a better phase, booyah than his son. However _meep_ did have it's uses.

"Meep, crap, I don't want to go to jail."

"I promise you. If you go to jail, I will bust you out. How many times have I busted you out before?"

"I have never been to jail. I mean other than the time I got caught with those toilet bombs."

"Remember, we were busted for playing doctor and we had to play that mind game on your mom. Don't worry...I promise...no jail time for Ronnie unless we are together in the same cell. Besides, sensei told me you are the one with the monkey power. Don't worry you are a natural...just don't think too much."

"But..."

Vee kissed him and Ronnie started thinking with his other head.

"Okay, we bounce with the cops, but only once."

She slipped him the tongue, "I promise to be a very naughty kitty!"

"Twice."

_Meep...I am going to spend the rest of my life dodging queers in the holding pens. _

* * *

Minami Jiro had spent all his adult life in law enforcement.

After an initial three year stint in a _koban_ (police box), Jiro had work in the Kidotai, the Japanese riot police, for half a decade. He then spent ten years with the special operations unit until a training accident rendered him incapable of looting and shooting with his comrade. Instead of retiring, they sent him to a sleepy little town so that he could do his time and collect his pension.

He had thrived in his position. He had pass his promotion examinations and was simply waiting for a slot to open up in the Criminal Investigation Bureau. Normally he would be in the koban processing paperwork...but today he was training a rookie fresh out of the local police academy.

Koga Yukio was the youngest son of a respected, retired inspector. However, despite the blood, Yukio had a lot to learn on criminal methods. He was talented, but he did not yet manage to acquire the little things that Minami had picked up in sixteen years on the job.

"Where are we heading to?"

" Nara Atrium. There is a good 100-yen store and the wife wants me to pick her up some stuff."

"Shopping on company time?"

The police sergeant shook his head, "No, it's lunch time. Also, I have to speak to two of my rats. This Anarchy Angel situation need to be fixed fast. Otherwise, the criminal element will become bolder."

The young man's face lit up.

"Buddha, please save us from those unfortunates who desire adventure. Have you ever looked at the wrong end of pistol before? If you only shit your pants...you definitely have what it takes to be a samurai. I have seen grown men whimper like a little girl. If you spot one...call it in. Let the special operations unit earn their paychecks."

"But cops in America..."

"They die every year. Remember Team Possible?"

"No."

"Before your time. They were the ultimate kick ass team. They had more action than a lone _videoke_ girl during the annual sales convention. But in the end, fate caught up with them. The boy...he became a cop in America that hunted down only escaped convicts. He and his unit were transporting one that put a twenty million dollar reward to anyone who helped him escape. The unit was betrayed and the boy was killed. They were better armed than any of us ever will be and they got slaughtered. Just because you have a gun doesn't mean someone can't hurt you."

Minami Jiro saw an all too familiar movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Did you notice something, Yukio?"

"No."

"Watch the female in the brown delivery outfit."

Two seconds later, the cops witnessed the young lady's hand dart and retrieve another wallet from an unsuspecting mark.

"Shit...another pickpocket."

"Watch the language. We are supposed to be professionals after all. I am going to arrest her. I want you to keep an eye out for trouble. Some of these pickpockets work in teams."

The young lady lifted two more wallets by the time that Jiro was in position. He reached forwards, about to grab the young lady by the arm. She just twisted and he missed. Her other arm swung around and he got a back hand across the face.

"_Kore wa keikan ja arimasen!_ (This guy is not a cop) G_okanma desu ne!_ (This guy is a rape devil)."

The young lady was screaming that he was a rapist as she sprinted away from him.

Fortunately the locals did not interfere as he chased her. They saw his gun and immediately backed off.

_I am going to make this bitch yap when I catch her!_

Suddenly, there was the sound of a scuffle behind him.

"Get her, I will take care of this one!" yelled the rookie.

If the young lady did not call him a rapist and raise his ire...he might have backed off and helped his partner. However, the young pup told him that he had the situation under control.

The young girl disappeared around the corner.

The old police sergeant raced behind her.

He raced into a ridge hand.

If her aim was a little higher, she could have broken his throat with a single blow. It was bad enough that she got him on his back. He was gasping for air. The little minx turned around and raced passed him. She even had the audacity to blow him a kiss.

Minami rolled unto his knees, caught his breath, and got back up on his feet. He ran back to his partner to see the young girl thrown a spinning crescent kick to the rookie's jaw. The loud crack told Minami that the rookie would not be eating solid food anytime in the near future.

"Police!"

The girl and her partner ran in opposite directions.

The partner would have to be dealt with at a later time. The girl was the one who nearly killed him and broke his partner's jaw.

This time he knew better than to under estimate this girl. She obviously was a martial arts master. Stunning a fourth degree black belt in judo and a three degree in Ishin Ryu karate, plus knocking out a second degree in shotokan karate.

Minami Jiro had spared with many criminals and Japanese martial arts masters, but the young girl's movements were more circular and fluid than the traditional Japanese styles that he had fought in the past.

Jiro threw a jab followed by a low kick. They both missed.

Jiro was in a traditional stance. The young lady was in what appeared to be a horse stance.

"You are under..."

His experienced eyes followed the quick movement of her jab. However, byu the time he reacted, she got in two quick slaps to the face, two fists to the gut, and a leg swipe.

Jiro found himself falling to the earth. He kicked out to get her back so he could roll back and get on the offensive.

The problem was that by the time he was back on his feet the girl disappeared.

"Shit!"

"Baka!" a female voice replied as someone stomp kicked him perfectly on the tail bone.

He fell forward and tucked himself into a forward roll.

Jiro lashed out, however she seemed always just outside of reach. The image of his attack reflected in her mirrored sunglasses mocked him.

"_Watakushi wa hayai desu. __Anata wa hayai ja arimasen_. Ojiisan wa kame desu ne."

I'm fast. You're not. Grandpa's a turtle!

Jiro intensified his attack with the same results.

Suddenly, her foot snaked out and whapped him on the side of the knee cap. Jiro Minami fell.

He was unable to stand. The last time he felt this helpless was went his grandfather whipped him for stilling his grandmother's pickled plums. That was over thirty years ago.

"_Ojiisan no hiza wa togiretogire desu_."

Grandpa's knee is broken.

Never before has Police Sergeant Jiro Minami hated youth so much.

"_Suimasen. Watakushi wa ojiisan no pisotoru kakarimasu_."

Sorry I'm taking your pistol.

She then giggled like one of those empty-headed bimbos with the Hello Kitty purses.

She kicked him in the temple and his world went black, but not before he knew what shame truly was.

* * *

_He could not move. _

_He was naked under the covers as was his normal sleeping habit since he was five. Thirteen years later, that habit would land him in trouble. _

_He was asleep. The stress of losing his mother and walking away from the world he knew had keep him awake for days on end. However, in the end the body's need for sleep had won over his anxiety. _

_It was spring in _ _Montana__. The locals were wearing their summer wear. Robert grew up in southern _ _California__ where one had to drive up to the mountains to see snow. It was bad during the day, but at night...he was huddled up under a mountain of blankets. _

_He closed his eyes and curled up into a ball hugging a pillow. Tomorrow would be another early day in what would become a string of early days for the rest of his life. Working on a ranch, he already figured out that sleeping in late would be a luxury forever denied him. _

_Robert wondered what would happen to him. He had a job as a mechanic. It was perhaps the only job suited for the _ _new city__ boy. His teenage years, hanging out on the drag racing scene had taught him a lot about engines. Toss in a year and a half of mechanical engineering at USC, he was a die hard motor head. It was perhaps the best way for him to make his keep. There were always jobs for good motor heads. They enrolled him in the local SASE mechanics course. However, they had him working on the big diesels and the small gasoline powered generators. _

_The challenges of keeping fifty motor vehicles running was demanding and keep him from brooding during the day. _

_However, it was the night time that Robert hated the most. At night, there was too much time to think as he lay huddled under a mountain of blankets. _

_Slowly the urge to sleep would overtake the terrier shaking scurrying rats breeding inside his skull. _

_The pillow was firm like the form of his ex-girl friend, Ana Ramirez. Despite the Latino last name and body, Ana was about as white inside as Howdy Doody on the outside. She did not speak a word of Spanish and when her cousins or parents would speak in Spanish she would complain about that being so Mexican. Ana's old man was the third generation in the construction business. He started as a roofer, but when the sister got into real estate, Ana's old man went into building subdivisions and strip malls. _

_Ana acted like a good little Catholic girl...a good little nymphomania catholic school girl. She had taken his virginity on morning so that she could up her cousin who just got a French kiss. Ana could have been a porn goddess. She did not need acting classes. Despite her upper class breeding, Ana was a natural slut. After prom, he caught her with one of her father's employees. _

_Sharing was not one of personality traits and so he dropped her. However, he could not dropped the memories of what she did to him and what he did to her. _

_He remembered the time they played the spoon game. They sleep together, not moving, just seeing how many times they could get off by just the manipulation of her pelvic muscles. Sometimes, the dreams would be intense and he would wake up with the evidence of nocturnal emissions all over his bed. _

Robert, calm yourself. You don't need trouble now. Don't paw the local girls. You can't afford to get into bar fights over some floozy slut who is banging half the county.

_Robert hugged the pillow tighter. The only action he was going to get for a while would be in his dreams. It would have to do until he found something willing in town that would not get him into too much trouble. _

_Ana and Robert were watching a porno that she had stolen from her older brother's collection. As far as Ana's housemaid knew, the pair were simply studying for an upcoming biology examination. _

_Human reproduction and entertainment. _

_"Is she pretty?" _

_"Of course...otherwise they would have paid someone else." _

_"Who's prettier?" _

_An instinctive sense of self preservation clicked in. _

_"You" _

_Ana glowed. Robert prayed that she did not glow like that in from of her parents. _

_"How much are you willing to have me star in your film?" _

_"I don't know. First you have to audition." _

_Ana zipped down his zipper. _

_"I see you already got the staring male role." _

_Ana bent over and kissed his mushroom tip. _

_Despite the occasional grazing of her teeth, Robert knew that this would forever mark one of the high points in his life. Everyone talked about blow jobs, but no one he knew had one. He wanted to tell Ana that she got the job, but something told him to play the role of the difficult casting agent. _

_"Girl, lots of other girls suck better than you. Ms. Rhea Bonnet, your high school French teacher, took five men. All you shone me was your mouth. You have ass, cunt, and hands...use them." _

_He kept his tone as serious as a pimp to a girl who did not bring in the money. _

_"Ms. Bennet is a lesbo slut." _

_"We love lesbo sluts. They have the best tongues and work for nearly nothing." He kidded. _

_"Well, I am a not straight, not bi. __I am tri-sexual. That means I will try everything, preferably more than once." _

_Robert remembered smiling, "That's the attitude, but I have to try your other assets. See if they can measure up and endure all the hard pounding. Roll over. Let's see if you have the booty that will make the latest Latin sensation weep." _

_He remembered feeling like the luckiest porn star in the world. _

_Robert knew he would have to change the bed sheets the following morning, but it was worth the memory. _

Robert this is not a dream.

_Robert woke up to see a small blond thing set on his pile driver. _

_"Shush...honey daddy has a loaded shotgun. Now promise me that you won't stop until I have your love child." _

_Robert wanted to run. This was just a child. He can not afford to be calling up batters from the minors. He was not his sick father who fucked his own daughters. _

_However, his body was squirting in more seed into the small blond girl. _

_"Honey, promise me when our daughter is ready, you will give her a daddy's baby of her own." _

_His body was pounding. The thought of knocking up his own kids was causing him to knock up his boss's daughter. _

_Robert screamed as he impregnated the fourteen year old. As his thing came out, her belly was already swelling. _

_"You have given me twin girls honey." _

_Robert ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He saw the face of his grandfather/father. _

_"Robert, no matter what, you are still a Rockwaller. You want her. She wants you. She knows that you will give her what she wants. Follow your destiny. It's in your genes. She will only be the first of your harem" _

_Robert screamed, "I'm not you. I will never be like you." _

_The voice laughed, "You are so much like me that we could use each other for mirrors." _

"Robert, it's safe to leave the house now. Breakfast will be ready in fifteen. Beefsteak, cheese omelets, and pancakes..."

Robert opened his eyes to see Mrs. Joss Possible Weiss standing at the doorway.

"Yes, ma'am. Promise me no more chopper rides."

"Don't ma'am me. Besides, you hired on as a mechanic's apprentice. To fix the choppers you have to know how to test fly them. I told Jen to take it easy. As for the other thing...Jen is only fourteen and don't know much about boys. She is just doing what all girls do at that age. Just ignore it and she will eventually get the message."

Robert Daniel Xavier, formerly Robert Rodger Rockwaller, hoped that Jennifer Possible Weiss would find another boy to torment soon. Mrs. Weiss turned around, left, and closed the door behind her.

Robert crawled out of bed, summoned the image of two fat senior citizen lesbos in action to get his thing down. He crawled into the bath room and took a mighty cold shower.

Robert was afraid to look into the mirror.

Back in high school, he liked the younger ones...the ninth graders. He did not know why. They did not have the racks that the 12th graders had, but now he knew that somewhere deep inside is the disease that seemingly infected all the Rockwaller males.

Robert entered the cold shower, closed his eyes, and prayed to whatever deity would listen. He did not want to be messed up like the rest of the Rockwallers. He prayed that the boss would have busy doing something today so he did not have to see Jennifer Weiss and put up with her incessant flirting.

Robert wondered just how many more surprises fate had in store for him. Just how many more demons lay inside his mind waiting to torture him.

* * *

Assistant Inspector Toshishiro had his first break.

There was a call from the Nara Atrium, an indoor outdoor shopping center.

When Toshishiro arrived, there were two unconscious police officers missing their equipment belts. Whoever did this had two more firearms.

When Toshishiro walked up to the scene, he was shocked. One of the officers was a rookie, Koga Yukio, fresh out of the police academy. The other was Minami Jiro, the local police unarmed combat instructor and Yukio's training officer.

Minami Jiro was ashamed of being defeated, but he was a professional who dispassionately related the events of his shame.

At 12:34, he spotted a pickpocket in action. When he tried to give chase, his partner was ambushed by a one hundred seventy centimeter, sixty five kilogram male. When he tried to help his partner, he was attacked by one hundred fifty centimeter female wearing a UPS uniform and mirror shades.

"It was like fighting the mist. No matter what I did, I could not get a hold of her and everything I did missed her by millimeters. Suddenly she struck me in the knee and I fell to the earth, dazed. She then took my gun and whispered, _sumimasen_, and then she giggled."

The dazed police officer shook his head.

"She kicked Koga in the head. Perfect jaw shot...I doubt he will be able to speak until the doctors wire his jaw up. It was like the crooks brought in a ringer to beat the snot out of us. It was an ambush. The way she moved...I should have not scene her lift the wallet. It was as if she was deliberately clumsy so we would see her so we would fall into her trap."

Toshishiro wondered who upped the ante. There was an agreed upon code between the local criminals and the cops. There was an unspoken rule about not assaulting cops and definitely no ambushing cops.

However the Yakuza of late were breaking all the rules and traditional agreements.

"Any tattoos?"

"No and they had all ten fingers. I did not get much more. They were too fast...too good to be Yakuza scum."

Minami would be in the hospital for months while the doctors worked on his knee. Two police officers, one an experience hand to hand combat instructor and the other a former competitive marital artist, were taken out by two unknown criminals.

If this was the movies, Toshishiro would began to believe in some secret ninja cult.

However, even with the homeland of the ninja, Iga just a few hours away, he doubted that any remaining ninjas would target two honest beat cops. If someone had enough money to hire some ninja, they did not have to waste the services on two beat cops. All they had to do was intimidate an industrialist that had the right politician in his pocket. More than once the politicians had shut down very interesting investigations once there were certain parties involved.

Looking at the nearby wall, he saw a horned halo and winged-twin A's painted on the wall. The Anarchy Angels were here.

There were several news crews talking about the Anarchy Angels.

_Great, I am going to get a bunch of copy cats._

Toshishiro vowed that he would get those menaces even if it cost him his career. No one bounces two cops in his prefecture. No one!

* * *

The news of two cops being assaulted and robbed simultaneously reached two competing interests.

Yori Yamaguchi, formerly Yori Suzuki, was checking the news for any mention for trouble.

Hirotaka Yamanouchi was also doing the same.

Both were shocked by the level of violence displayed by a pair of fourteen year olds.

Both sent a contingent of underlings to bring the girl and her boyfriend.

The question was which one of three competing interests would get to the duo first. The Yakuza, the local police, and the Yamanouchi ninja clan all wanted the same thing. Hirotaka and Yori both knew that things were going to be bloody as all three factions bump into one another.


	53. Messed Up

**Moving Onwards **

**That's Messed Up **

**By Pat Squared **

**

* * *

**

**Confession: **

**I am a review junkie. **

* * *

_Room 4015A _

_Office of the Colorado Attorney General _

_Middleton, _ _Triton County_ _Colorado_

_8:15 _ _A.M._ _Mountain__ Standard Time _

Kim rubbed her forehead as she bemoan her sore rear.

Despite her recent promotion, the dramatic increase in her department's operating budget, and her very liberal use of the puppy dog pout, the former teen heroine was stuck in a small six by eight foot closet with peeling paint, a prison made metal desk and filing cabinet, a telephone one step up from two cups and a piece of string, and a wooden chair made sometime during the Johnson administration...the Andrew Johnson administration.

Kim hated the chair. On the bottom was a tag with a US Navy and a US Marine Corps inventory control number. The chair was so painful that even the Marine Corps dumped this chair on the surplus market where the state of Colorado picked it up, varnished it with some cheap substitute, and sent it to the prison. The problem was the chair was too solid and useful as a weapon. So the prison system got the soft padded chair and the hard chairs went here.

Kim even tried to bring in her own chair, but some anal retentive bureaucrat forced her boss to put out a memo stating that due to some civil service regulation, no one was allowed to purchase or even bring in their own furniture. Only government owned furniture can be used in the office and the appropriate department would do random audits to insure compliance. Thus even Kim Possible was stuck with a chair that would warm the heart of the Marquis de Sade and the Spanish Inquisition.

However the uncomfortable chair was the least of Kim Possible's worries today.

It had taken two weeks, three private detectives, a dozen forensic accountants, and six hundred sixty six thousand dollars, before the prosecutor had more than enough evidence to risk taking this case to a grand jury and taking it to trail. She had to have the evidence to take this guy to trial.

Were this a typical sex crimes case, Kim would have had the bastard in question already working as an anal whore in the local penitentiary.

However, this pedophile had enough money to get Mark Garagos, Gloria Alred, Berry Shapiro, and even Johnny Cochran resurrected and serving as his defense consul.

Money meant that every T and I would be ruthlessly examined for any grounds of release on a technicality. Besides, Kim had to wait just so the case will be brought before the Honorable Tomas "Hang-man" de Leon Cortez Martinez. Her window of opportunity was small because every deputy prosecutor wanted to bring their case to Martinez. Martinez was by the book, tougher than nails, and controlled his courtroom with an iron fist. However for all his faults he was most well known for slapping the maximum possible sentence once the jury did their thing.

Today...today would be the day Craig Rockwaller would be arrested, charged, and paraded in front of the media as a notorious pedophile who knocked up his daughters and raped his daughters slash granddaughters. However, today Bonnie's secret and the parentage of her son Robert Rockwaller will become a matter of public record. Today, all of Bonnie's closeted skeletons will be displayed and the tabloids would have a field day.

_Bonnie, I hope that you like what you see. I will nail your father's bastard balls to the wall and let him enjoy being the new prison ho before they shove a broken broomstick up his ass and let him die of blood poisoning._

Today, Kim Possible was going to be the most famous district attorney in the world for fifteen minutes or her legal career was going up in flames.

The phone rang.

It was her boss and he was not a happy man. No one had ever heard of her boss being excited let alone swearing. However, there was a first time for everything.

"What the fuck, Kim? The governor fucking called me at six in the god damn morning and..."

Kim cleared her throat, "Sir, the governor can't call this case off without the media crying cover-up. The feds are in on this and if we back down, they are going to jump in and take the credit. We got everyone from the FBI to the postal inspectors. However, we are the ones to get him first. You are the one who authorized this investigation..."

"What...I authorized no..."

"I have a piece of paper with your signature.

"Dated two weeks ago... the 5th of March 2026," Kim picked up the appropriate piece of paper and read it to her stunned boss.

"I, Deputy Colorado State Attorney General Mark Jimenez, currently in charge of the Triton County District Office, hereby authorize Senior Prosecuting Attorney Kimberly Anne Possible of the Colorado State Attorney General's Triton County Office to conduct a special confidential investigation into the allegations made by Bonnie Clara Rockwaller, now deceased, on 24th of February 2026 against Craig Wallace Rockwaller, currently residing at 302 Wallace Park Road, Middleton, Colorado.

"All investigation costs up to one million US dollars shall be authorized to be drawn against the special investigations fund at the discretion of Kim Possible. Due to Mr. Rockwaller's standing in the local community and the economic threat that unfounded allegations can pose to our community, the investigation will be kept confidential until Miss Possible and only Miss Possible decides there is sufficient evidence to charge Mr. Rockwaller or conclude that there is no merit in the allegations. So on and so forth."

Kim smiled. She had her boss pinned down.

"Boss, we have physical evidence confirmed by three independent laboratories in addition to the FBI and state crime labs. Mr. Rockwaller will be indicted on several charges including statutory rape, child molestation, child endangerment, conspiracy, obstruction of justice. Also, we found that key law enforcement personnel in the Internal Affairs, Human Resources, and Special Victims Unit of the Middleton were bribed by Mr. Rockwaller to ignore allegations. It has been alleged that said corruption had been going on for decades. The FBI will arrest them for civil rights charges. Middleton PD is a dirty egg. I have been conducting a parallel investigation into allegations of corruption. So have the Feds, including the Internal Revenue Service, the US Treasury, and the FBI. It's this investigation that will allow you to become the man who single handedly cleaned up central Colorado and perhaps the next Colorado State Attorney General. Maybe even governor."

Kim's boss's ambitions did not end in the governor's residence. He wanted to be the first Latino residing at the white structure located at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Kim was giving him the chance to be the next Colorado State Attorney General.

"Okay, any other special investigations that I should know about?"

"We are just having the crime labs reexamine all the evidence on the MID-killer and the other death row cases so the defense attorneys cannot cry cover-up and failure to do all in our power to exonerate the innocent. Multiple labs all Department of Justice certified and independently certified by the National Association of Forensic Examiners so not even Jesus Christ himself can spring our suspects out. On the Fulton-Mendoza rape-murder, the forensics techs are doing their thing right now. I have detail Rachel Serina Pareja to be Special Agent Zimmer's day to day legal eagle on this one. But any decisions to arrest and charge will be deferred to me."

"Kim, from now on, I want a weekly status on all special investigations by noon on Friday sent to my email. All requests for special investigations will go on the yellow paper. No more slipping it into the stack, Kim Possible. Who are you scheduling for?"

"I made arrangements for Martinez."

"Go ahead. If you need anything, pick up your phone and dial my extension 231. You are now on my put through anytime...anywhere list."

The boss hung up.

Kim suppressed a smile. She had won this round.

Next was dealing with the grand jury.

For now Kim smiled trying to enjoy the messed up vision of Bonnie's father, the fashionable Mr. Craig Rockwaller, being butt-raped by a large inmate. It was a messed up vision, but a pleasing vision for the overworked prosecutor.

* * *

_10:15 P.M. _

_Nara, Nara Prefecture, Japan _

7,500 miles away, while Kim Possible was fighting for justice, truth, the American way, her son, Ronald Stoppable Possible, and his best friend girl friend were contemplating their next offense against order and decency.

So far the pair was guilty of:

Arson, motor vehicle, two counts;

Assault on a police officer in the performance of his duties, two counts;

Aggravated Assault with a deadly weapon, one count;

Brandishing a Firearm, one count;

Carrying a Concealed Firearm without a Permit, five counts;

Conspiracy to commit a felony, two counts;

Criminal Trespassing, four counts;

Defacement of Private Property, three counts;

Driving without a Driver's License, one count;

Failure to Possess an Official ID on One's Person, two counts;

Grand Theft, Auto, two counts;

Importation of a Controlled Substance, one count;

Kidnapping;

Malicious Destruction of Private Property by Fire, three hundred sixteen counts;

(One per package in the UPS van)

Obstruction of Justice (Witness Intimidation), one count

Petty Theft, Clothing, two counts;

Petty Theft, Firearm, five counts;

Pickpocketing, twelve counts;

Possession of Alcohol by a Minor, three counts;

Possession of a Controlled Substance without a Permit, one count;

Possession of a Pistol by a Minor, five counts;

Possession of a Firearm during the Commission of a Crime, two counts;

Possession of an Unregistered Firearm, three counts;

Robbery, two counts;

Shoplifting, three counts;

Use of a Controlled Substance without a Permit, one count;

And that was just in Japan. The pair had broken the laws back home in Middleton, Colorado.

If one added up the typical prison sentences for all such offenses, not even those biblical patriarchs could live long enough to be eligible for parole let serve out the entire sentence. It was this knowledge that set Ronald Stoppable Possible on ease while still on edge.

Ronald Stoppable Possible, aka Ronnie, was like his parents. Deep down inside, he was a good boy and frightened by the things he and his girlfriend did in the past twenty four hours. Yesterday, his _evilness_ extended to having sex with his best friend girlfriend while they were both underage (in the US, but not in Japan). Today, he was working on a rap sheet that would envy the super-villains his parents dealt with two decades ago.

If they were still alive and knew, they would be overjoyed that Miss Perfect Kim Possible was raising a criminal.

Now he was beyond caring. What could they do if they caught him...add an addition century to his multiple life terms. It was like being caught with a lousy toilet bomb after knocking up all the girls in the seventh and eighth grades.

Now he knew just why Bonnie and Clyde went on a massive crime spree.

Once you hit a certain point, there was nothing left to be afraid of anymore. Once you are looking at the hangman's noose, a little slap on the wrist was nothing. Now, almost ninety years after the legendary pair was slain in a roadside ambush, a pair of American teens was going to terrorize local law enforcement.

Ronnie looked over his bowl of _asuka nabe_ at his partner in crime. Like Bonnie, Violetta was a small, skinny female who did not look like a formidable opponent. She looked like a twelve year old girl. However, she was not an ordinary fourteen year old. Ronnie was not an ordinary teenage boy.

Ronnie was the only child of a pair of teenage super heroes. Violetta was the only child of a sadistic pedophile and a rent a porn child starlet. However, despite sharing their parents DNA, the children were not their parents' clones. Ronnie did not want to go out and save the world. Vee did not want to go on a killing rampage. However Vee did have the urge to commit petty crimes.

"What's next?"

However, Violetta was strangely silent today.

Normally she would be so bouncy after pulling a scam. However, Violetta was utterly still.

"Ronnie...," Vee started with the four most dreaded words in the English language, "We need to talk..."

_Oh shit..._

* * *

Yori closed her tired eyes.

In the few short weeks she ran the Yamanouchi clan, everything seemingly went to hell.

For fifty years, Master Sensei ran the school. In a world of emails, faxes, and phones, Yamanouchi ran on coded messages and whispered instructions passed unto trusted couriers.

Now Yori had to untangle Master Sensei's web of controls and levers and establish her own.

With most Fortune 5000 companies, the CEO was only there for three or four years. However, when one's predecessor sat on the dais for fifty years...routines became iron-clad traditions. In a land where tradition was more powerful than law...changing tradition was unthinkable.

And that was why the instructors at Yamanouchi lost the two Americans.

The curriculum was traditional with minor modifications due to changes in technology. However, the basic techniques were fixed. Everyone moved in the same basic patterns and did evasion in the same way.

The problem was that Master Sensei's granddaughter had grown up in a foreign land. She had the ancestor knowledge...what some called instinct...but Violetta Lee was not brought up in the Yamanouchi training system the other students came up in. Unlike the other students at Yamanouchi, Violetta Lee learned to do things in her own way. The problem was her methods were unconventional and thus harder for others to guess her intentions. At first, Yori believed that it would be a minor issue to train Violetta. Violetta already had mastered the fundamentals and shown a talent for using her skills in the real world.

If Chinese martial arts use the belt ranking system, Vee would be a purple or first degree black belt in competition. However, Vee had something inside of her that made her more dangerous in the outside world than you typical martial arts sensei. The Yamanouchi genes for applied violence and mayhem had seeming breed through to the young girl. With Vee's history, Yori figured out there had to be a con-man or two in Violetta's mother side of the family. Now they seemingly combined into something that Yori feared.

She remembered Hirotaka's vision of a new ninja clan. All that would need to happen is for Hirotaka to reclaim his daughter and break the few bonds of love that controlled the demons inside the troubled girl...then Hirotaka will have the perfect weapon.

Ronald Stoppable Possible was a follower...however he was not just a mere follower, but he was an apt apprentice. No...he was more like his father...able to do the impossible to save those he loved. Facing down a police officer was no mean feat. Even though Violetta was the one who in the end rendered the coup de grace...Ronald Possible was not exactly innocent or unskilled. Like his father...there was an inborn capacity for villainy and evil that hid behind an innocent mask. Yori remembered hearing about the Zorpox incident. The inner villain was in every human. It was just that Ron Stoppable passed unto his son the same capacity his father had.

Tangoing with a black belt in karate was no mean feat. Ronald Possible had the dodging skills of his father. Now all that was needed was the spark to ignite his monkey powers and cause him to use it in an offensive manner.

That was perhaps the most dangerous time.

The bonds of love between the pair were the things that keep them relatively on the straight and narrow. They would not exactly be law abiding citizens...but a reasonable facsimile thereof...which for this particular pair was the best that anyone could hope for. Should one fall...Yori shuddered to think of the consequences.

Yori closed her eyes and relaxed. She pondered the situation and the voices of her ancestors told her where to go next.

While the other instructors were going to physically search for the wayward pair, she was going to search in the realm of the _meimyaku_, or threads of life and destiny. No one...not even the most determined ninja can hide in that chaotic realm.

Going to the realm of the _meimyaku_, was an arduous task even for a master. Despite decades of training, Yori knew that she was no where near the master in the magical arts of the ninja that her sensei was. Even after a lifetime of study, he had difficulties in this place.

No one traveled to this place alone...anyone with the remotest interest in preserving his or her skin would avoid this place like a toxic waste dump.

The ability, thankfully for the majority, to go to the realm was not a universal skill, but rather a skill that flowed in certain bloodlines. The Suzuki's and the Yamanouchi's were the only ones of the clan that had the skill. Sometimes it would pop up in a stranger...but that had not happen in six generations. The only other person who could have gone along with Yori on this quest was a fourteen year old girl lost in Nara and her demon of a father.

Yori set aside her regrets. She had to. The first principle was that total mindfulness and yet emptiness of mind were essential. The second principle was that in the void, the most dangerous thing was one's own mind. The mind uncontrolled or too controlled was the enemy.

Yori grabbed three candles. Two of these she lit and placed on the ground. The third candle was put so that it formed a downward pointing triangle to represent the cosmic feminine from with all souls and spirits are born.

Yori changed into her father's ancient _kendoji_ (jacket), _hakama_ (pants), and _bogu_ (armor) that she once wore for her training in _naginata-jutsu_ (martial art of using the naginata or glaive). However, instead of getting a naginata, Yori slid two ancient, iron shod short staffs, each only a foot and a half (45 centimeters) long, into her belt. This was not for protection in the realm of the _meimyaku_, rather these artifacts would be to only way that Yori could sense her way back to this world. These items were part of Yori's past. The staves were wielded by one of her anscestors in a battle. The _hendoji_ and _hakama_ were her father's and the _boju_ was her mother's last gift before the car accident that made her an orphan.

_The void was a place where only the few could venture and even fewer would live, let alone return with the sanity intact._

There were those that watched and those that manipulated the meimyaku. To stand here was to face your past and the past of your ancestors. For Yori, this was the most difficult part. The Suzuki line was a line of _konoichi_ who used seduction as their primary tool to get close enough to kill or spy upon their targets. A good percentage of her ancestors were the monsters the _konoichi_ battled against. In doing their mission, they had deliberately or more often by perversity of fate incorporated the blood of monsters into her bloodline. Instead of protecting her, like ancestral spirits were wont to do for loyal descendants, these ancestral spirits wanted to punish the offspring of their betrayers and murderers. Yori had to focus on the task ahead and fight the spirits of those who her _knonichi_ ancestors betrayed.

The weaving of the fabric was a snarl. The threads were rotting...disintegrating and new patterns...patterns woven by chaos were forming and tearing apart as fate and design fought for supremacy. These were not just woven but pasted together. Hirotaka's tampering was plainly visible for her to see.

One did not have to talk here to be heard.

Words were not uttered or said in the void lest something terrible be given life. One just had to think...to will the concept to be sent over. The void had no air as anyone would define air, but one breathed in the essence of the meimyaku. However to breath in the essence too long would mean soul death. Every moment, one would weaken with every puff of essence one consumed. And yet this essence lent strength and power of a different kind. Every intake was a calculated gamble...Power at the risk of one's soul.

Taking her first calculated breath, Yori closed her eyes and let her instincts lead her towards the cord that was Violetta's destiny.

Yori opened her eyes. Only a lifetime of discipline allowed her not to gasp in shock. So many forces were tugging at Violetta's cord that the young girl's cord was unraveling. She had never seen or heard of such phenomena. Individual cords just did not unravel. They emerge into other cords. Even in death the cord did not vanish but continued into the cords of the lives they touch for good or ill.

A familiar presence walked up next to her. He too would seek her while his minions searched back in the world they had left behind.

"We are at the moment of decision my old lover. You have trained my daughter well. I wondered how our son would have turned out if he lived. However, it's time for me to finish her training."

Yori did not bother to answer. Her attention was in the now. It had to be. Death here only fed the victor with power.

"You are doing a working of your own. I am doing a working myself. However, I have been looking for you."

Yori nodded.

"Do you think things could have ever worked between us? Or where you relieved when you believed me gone forever?"

Hirotaka was pressing on Yori's guilt.

"Hirotaka, you made your own bargain with the king of hell. When I thought you gone, I lost everything. It was our child that prevented me from killing myself. When he died...Master Sensei had to save me from killing myself."

Yori bit down on her lip. She could not afford to dwell in the memory of that part of her life right here.

"Yori, I loved you above all other things. I spent my dying moments thinking of you. When they cut off my arm...when they used the blow torch on my face...it was your memory that took the edge off my pain. However in the end, there was no choice."

Yori thought and then uttered, "Their might not be a choice then, but now there is a choice. Make amends and you will be free of the ties that bind you. Things change. We change along with the weavings of destiny."

The ghost silence of the void then became their company.

Fighting here was possible. The victor would remain to reweave a young girl's fate. The loser's essence...energy would be used by the victor as the victor saw fit. However, both silently agreed to wait for at least a few moments.

"I cannot. There is too much to lose. We have larger enemies and greater issues than one another. Those that dragged me out of the halls of the dead and those that manipulated you for so long are our real enemy. We are just a side show...a distraction while the magicians do there thing. Soon, they will seek out my child and make her their pet. I rather surrender her to you than let them control her fate. She is more than a girl. She is the future of our kind. The problem is that you don't'"

Yori sensed Hirotaka desperation.

"Why should I?"

"You personal attention to my daughter...honors me. No...she is too precious to let rot in obscurity. Can't you see...she is the keystone of something...some working so subtle that even I have difficulty just perceiving its surface? However if she does not become...then everything I have done...everything our ancestors had done to survive was for naught."

"Your workings have already doomed her. Your perverting of her mother with drugs has already killed you daughter."

"Her mother was already addicted to the poison when she was thrown in my cell. I did what I did because I was compelled to do so. If not...the mother would die without fulfilling her destiny. Otherwise, I would have merely killed her like I did the others. The enemy had already shattered her soul. The demon inside the mother was dying. The world needs demons as well as saints."

Yori wanted to ask questions, but to show weakness was death with your foe.

"The drugs are not what you think. They shield my child...they let her prepare for her destiny...they protect her from those who seek to use my daughter's powers for their own gain until she hopefully is old enough to weave her own path. It's risky...but then you know everything is risk...even love."

Yori knew Hirotaka's game.

"The time has come. It's time for us to work together. It's time for us to make our own luck at father would put it. Alone neither of us has the power to save the child. Together we can save her. However, what new weaving will be is an issue of contention. You want her to be happy, content, to be like the other children about her. I want her to strong. I want her to be worthy of her heritage. I want her to be the power she was destined to be."

It was a game that she did not want to play...but the game had to be play anyways, even if it was just to buy the girl a little more time.

"It's past time," uttered Yori.

"So it's agreed. As we gather, we cease to become individuals, but become rather the one."

Together the former lovers turn enemies started binding the raveling cords that was Violetta Lee.

"We will need more strength to fix this weaving. I shall give to the work. Who will match me?"

It was an invitation to treachery...but to save a girl's life Yori had no choice. He needed her strength for his twisted plans. She needed his strength to guide her away from sorrow and danger.

"I shall match you drop for drop."

Both walkers of the _meimyaku_ felt the powers of possibility flow through their essence. Now it was time to be weavers.

"Then it is the time to see who shall give the most."

Hirotaka lashed out with his _jou_. Yori blocked with the short staff in her right hand. Simultaneously she lashed out with her left, but Hirotaka easily parried it with his four foot long staff. Unlike the traditional staff, this one was reinforced with demon steel rings, each ring tempered in the blood of an innocent child. Both sides had brought weapons of power into this place. Each weapon had claimed a score of lives and sought to add two more.

Again Hirotaka attacked and again Yori countered and then counterattacked. The energy of the clash was feeding the _meimyaku_ of the girl, but at a terrible price. Both contestants were rapidly weakening. The blows were not as precise or crisp at they were in the s.

However both fought on. Energy was needed for the working, but both did not want to be the one whose life would be sacrificed. Both sides sought their advantage and sought their opponent's downfall.

Faster and faster, the former lovers turned enemies clashed. Sparks erupted at the staves clash. Then Yori made a mistake.

She knew she made a mistake the moment she launched into her last desperate attack. Hirotaka was not as winded as he portrayed himself to be. The instant she opened her guard, he stuck her. The staves flew out of her hands and she flew back.

His staff glowed with the accumulated power. One blow and he would devour her soul and being and craft her life force to his purposes.

"If I still did not love you...I would have sacrificed you to this working. Your life is over. However I have decided to give you a gift. Every breath you take from here on is my gift to you. We are still on the opposite side of a battlefield. One day we will clash again. I nor you can hold back. However, should you vanquish me on that day...promise me that you will not let the ones who control us...use my child as they have used us. That obscenity...you must prevent!"

Hirotaka turned around and walked toward the _meimyaku_ that was his daughter's destiny.

"I have done evil. I _will_ do more evil. I have damned myself countless times over and over. I will wash the world in blood to prevent an obscenity from coming to past. No matter how far I have fallen, there are degrees of evil which even I won't do. There are things worse than me out there. There are those who have used me in the past that will seek to use her. They want her for she has much more potential than me."

"Who?"

Yori knew that this was the truth. Hirotaka and she both knew the ultimate truth...Lies are only needed between friends. There was a truth between enemies...especially in this place. To lie here was to weaken oneself.

"I don't know who. Names are not currency in our world, Yori-chan. However, these are folks whose body counts are in the wholesale division. People such as you, me, my daughter, and her lover have very marketable skill for such people. I don't like being used for other people purposes. I don't want my line to be someone's contract killer. Killing for cash...it's leave me feeling...unclean. She is too good to ever be...unclean. When she kills...it will be for something more precious than cash."

Hirotaka's hand flexed at the shame of the memory. The he started weaving the threads.

"I have rewoven her thread to buy her more time. However, it will come at a great price. Not longer will she be a child to play with dolls and think of boys. She will be asked to make decisions that will determine the path this world shall turn. Enemies and friends shall flow together like yin and yang. Enemies shall be unwitting allies and allies unwitting foes. She shall be tested. See that she survives. I will do what I can even if you won't particularly like the methods."

Hirotaka then walked off leaving Yori to ponder the working that he just completed and his warning. She studied the new working. She saw the pattern and wept. She had failed everyone. The weavings spoke of tragedy and testing. Yori in her state had just lost everything. She had failed Master Sensei. She had failed her ancestors. She had failed a young girl that needed her.

There were things worse than the death the young girl would have faced. Now these things were woven into the _meimyaku_ and Yori had not the energy to reweave them.

Yori had to return back to the waking world and wake for the storm to blow itself out before she could pick up the pieces.

* * *

In ancient days, all noblemen had pages. Some were sons of other nobles training for their future station. Others were boys selected often from orphans for their sharp ears and talented fingers.

It was that need that doomed Violetta's ancestors since the thirteen century. A duke in Normandy recruited a boy who grew too good at his craft of spying and assassination. His daughter was even better. Within generations, there was an uninterrupted line of spies, thieves, and killers. The duke's line had long since past out. However, the boy's line continued.

Every generation, someone would get in trouble, change their name, and move to a distant land to get away from a spot of trouble and a date with the local executioner. No matter how hard they tried, fate seemed to bring the family back into the world of crime. Forty five generations later, the latest of the sharp eared, nimble fingered descendant was wondering why she was so cursed.

It was bad enough having a sadistic pedophile killer for a father.

It was hard to be the daughter of a rent-a-childporn-starlet.

It was hard to live in a world where everyone was normal and you were the outsider doom to watch the others taking for granted everything that was denied you.

However, that was nothing compared to the task she had to do. She had to tell the object of her love that she was not worthy of it.

"Ronnie, we need to talk."

Ronnie gulped...he was afraid. However his fear was not a thousandth part of her own fear.

She _knew_ that she owed him everything. He had given up a lot of be her friend. She owed him the truth.

However, at the moment of truth...she learned that she could not say it.

Generations of fast talking instead made her lie. She knew that no matter what...she was a coward.

"We need a way to hid the fact that we are not...Japanese."

"You're a halfa..."

"Not good enough here. There aren't enough tourists for you to hide. How much do you have left?"

"A hundred thousand yen...maybe less in my pocket."

Vee cursed herself.

"Okay. We need to get some wheels and disguises. We cannot wait here anymore."

"What about the plan?"

"Ronnie, I can't explain it. I just know it."

Ronnie was clearly out of sorts, "Know what, Obiwan?"

"Things will go wrong if we are here too long. We have no ID. We have five pistols in a place where no one has a pistol. We have a pissed of police department seeking us. It's obvious they don't know what we are otherwise they would have found us already. The only good thing is that the UPS driver and the cops think that we are locals. We need to get back to Yamanouchi, get our things, and go home. We can't wait much longer."

"How?"

Vee pointed to the store.

"First, we need to get you made up?"

Ronnie looked at the store and the paraphernalia displayed. Whips, chains, leather outfits, and phallic substitutes.

"Don't worry. They will only see the outfit. No one will know."

"No way. I can't..."

Vee dragged him inside.

A hour latter, Ronnie Possible knew that if his mother ever saw him in this get up...she would lock him away in the local sanitarium.

He now sported black hair with badly dyed red spikes. The body modification artist had giving him multiple piercings in his ear and eyebrows. And the clothes were black. There was the makeup. He was wearing more makeup than a geisha or a performer in a KISS tribute band. The worst part was the leash and wide, studded collar around his neck.

"Why do I have to be the whipping boy?"

Violetta always had an excuse.

"Because, you can't speak basic Japanese. Your mom offered you a crack at the hypno-course but you were too..." Violetta did not want to use the word lazy. "...too _you_ to take it. We need a disguise that will not trip a local's bull crap alarm if you don't talk. At least I...I did not put one of those things up you ass. And I don't hit you...at least two much."

The look on Ronnie's face told her that he did not see the humor of the situation.

"It's only until we get out of town. It will heal up and I promise to burn the outfit. No one will know back home." Then Vee could not resist the temptation. "Unless you to wear this next Halloween. Remember your lines."

"Yes mistress." He spat out the words.

Ronnie was now the voice of sarcasm. He hated her now. Vee knew it. Maybe he would tell her to go to hell. It would make things easier if he hated her. If he did, she would not be upset at him...she knew that she deserved it.

* * *

Robert Rockwaller worked through the night to make sure that the twenty three Jeep Wranglers owned by the Lazy C Ranch, Inc. were ready to be used tomorrow. Every vehicle was given a bumper to bumper inspection, every fault was corrected, the vehicles were spotlessly cleaned, and stocked with the necessary gear required for working on the large ranch.

Robert was tired. However the young man looked for something else to do. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep.

Seeing nothing else, Robert cleaned and put away all the tools. He cleaned the shop he had been using. The vehicles were all in their proper places. He had even processed the paperwork and had an order for the new parts he would need typed up for the boss signature.

Robert staggered into the small closet that doubled as his office and bathroom. He took another cold shower and crawled into the blankets praying that someone would have an emergency task for him at 2:36 in the morning.

Alas everyone...even the coyotes were asleep.

He was about to surrender to a couple tortured hours of sleep when he heard the door open.

It was the last person in the world he wanted to see.

Jennifer Possible Weiss was only fourteen, blossoming, and the source of the dreams that haunted him nightly. She was in her pajamas.

"What is it Miss Weiss?"

The young girl groaned in frustration.

"How many times do I have to ask you to call me Jen before it gets through your thick skull?"

Robert was more afraid of this girl than of her parents. He had to think of her as his boss. He had to think of her as anything but a warm blooded girl that fueled his now nightly wet dreams and nightmares.

_I am not my father slash grandfather. I will not hit on young flesh. I cannot give a millimeter otherwise I will become rapist scum just like that old fuck._

Robert was cursed. His father not only passed on a physical build and the teal eyes that marked the Rockwaller clan. He had passed on his demons to a young man who hated everything his father-grandfather represented.

"All the Jeeps are ready for tomorrow. Tell your father that I have the part orders ready for his approval."

However, this did not obviously interest the young girl at this time.

"Why do you hate me Robert?"

Robert was shocked.

"I don't..."

"Liar. Otherwise you would not run away. I don't even see you at supper."

"I have been busy. I figured that it would be more convenient if I sleep here in the shop that..."

The young girl shook her head.

"Tell me. Am I too fat? Am I so fugly that you can't stand to see me?"

It was out in the open. At least what cause the young girl to invade the shop at three in the morning.

"What the hell does fugly mean?"

"Fucking ugly. As in melt the eyeballs ugly."

The young girl was now in tears.

"It's not you...it's me...okay Jen. You would not understand."

"Understand what?"

Robert ran through various scenarios. The truth was too difficult to share. So he started to lie.

"I...I am..."

Jennifer shook her head, "I know you are already lying. Just tell me the truth. Look me in the eye and tell me that you have a girl or guy somewhere. Tell me that I am too young to have you as a boyfriend. Just tell me the truth."

Robert wondered why things were so complicated when dealing with girls.

"Jen, you will soon make some guy deliriously happy. It's just won't be me. I have things...things that make me the wrong guy for you. I am not ready for a serious relationship, okay. I am too old...too many skeletons in my closet."

"Tell me."

Robert shook his head, "I cannot...not here or now."

"I hope you burn in hell Robert Daniel Xavier. I thought you were a man, but you are nothing but a scared little boy."

If it was a boy, the old Robert Rockwaller would have beaten the offender halfway to death.

However, the new Robert Daniel Xavier merely shrugged his shoulders and said, "Maybe I just am. Good night Miss Weiss. Please pass my message to your father. May I although suggest that you don't tell your father when we talked."

"I am fourteen...not stupid."

The young girl walked out and Robert breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully the young lady would get the hint and move on.

However he forgot the sage warning..._There is nothing more dangerous that a woman scorned._

* * *

**Warning: Sick Wrong Section Follows **

Susan Groningen wanted the world to end right now in a fiery cataclysm. She wanted hellfire and brimstone to fall from the heavens. She wanted earthquakes and volcanos erupting. She wanted tsunamis. She wanted Ragnorok, Armageddon, and the end of days to come.

Three months ago, she was a normal girl...at least as normal as any girl could be with an ex-superhero as a father. Like nine year olds were won't to believe, she believed boys were yukky, with the possible exception of James Cormac the boy who she flirted with when her sister was not looking. She enjoyed slugging James in the arm.

However, that was her old life...the life she had before her twin sister and her were kidnapped and forced to become a predator's plaything.

"Yes, Stacey. I know...I must do whatever I need to live. I just hate everyone. I even hate myself. Promise me that when it's over that I can join you."

There was silence. There always was silence, but Susan heard Stacey's answer. Being twins meant that sometimes one knew exactly what her womb sister's thoughts were.

"Okay, I promise."

Her sister told her the predator was in the next room.

Susan stepped out of her kimono and looked at her imagine in the mirror. For the past week, she had been feeling icky. She looked down there and saw blood. She had heard about the monthlies, but this was the first time she experienced it. The last time she saw blood down there was when Stacy broke her cherry.

She prayed that the predator would find it disgusting and leave her alone for a while.

However her sister told her that the predator would still do what he wished done.

"You are right. Will we ever be free?"

Susan could see her sister shake her head.

"Not until I am dead too."

Susan smiled at the thought.

It did not matter that Susan killed her twin sister three days ago. Her sister still loved her and would not abandon her. Even though the master's henchmen had disposed of the body, Susan could still feel her touch and her breath on her skin.

_He's coming, Susan._

As was Stacy's habit, she warned her still living sister.

Susan stood in the position and waited as the master entered the door.

"I see you are ready."

Susan walked up to the master and removed his robes as she had been instructed.

He sat down and Susan removed the thin cotton robe. She walked over to her master and kissed him as she had been painfully instructed.

"I noted some hesitation, Susan-chan. Hesitation killed more people than rash decisions. Remember that."

The master struck her in the face.

"I hate marring such beauty. I remember a young girl your age I had fifteen years ago. You should know her...she was a distant relative of yours. Soon you too will be beautiful."

The master smiled at a memory that Susan would only know from his words.

"Now show me what you learned from the video."

Susan wanted to wake up from this nightmare. She wanted to wake up in the bedroom she shared with her twin sister and have this all be just a dream. However, the pain had long since convinced her that this is not a nightmare.

The video showed a pale skin, raven hair ten year old with a fat belly. The girl's eyes were empty as she climbed unto the master's lap and set herself on him. It seemed the young girl was just staring off into the distance but five minutes later the master groaned. The girl did not move at all. She just sat there and stared off. The only sign was fluid leaking out of the young girl.

All the videos Susan was forced to watch was of that little girl. Now she know why he had chosen her. If the young girl and the twins were standing together, most folk would believe that they were triplets. The master said that the young girl was a distant relative, but Susan did not know of any relatives that were kidnapped. The only relative that disappeared was an aunt, but she was far too old to be that little girl.

The master's voice awoke Susan to her current predicament.

Susan closed her eyes as she was force to copy the little girl. She vowed to one day ensure that no other little girl will be hurt like the little girl or her sister was hurt.

Ninety minutes later, the master was asleep from his exertions. Susan hated feeling dirty and sticky down there, but she knew better than to bath without the master's permission. She looked around. Nearby was a stand with two swords, but from painful experience she knew the swords were decorative and would not kill the sleeping man. The only other weapon she had was her wits.

She remembered killing her sister by biting the neck and drinking out the blood. However, Susan knew that her sister wanted it. Her sister surrendered and let herself be killed. This man would fight the instant her teeth made contact. He would not die if she tried to use her teeth.

Susan crawled out from under the man's embrace. She wished that she was as strong as her father. She wished for the power to be able to crush steel and bone with her bare hands.

As instructed, she went to the gym for her mandated physical training.

She wailed at the heavy kicking bag. She knew that even here she was being watched. However, she had to develop her strength and technique.

She picked up the weights she used yesterday. Yesterday they were heavy. Now it was like picking up a piece of paper. Susan looked in the mirror and noted a faint glow.

It was then that she knew that she would inherit her father's strength.

God had answered her prayers. He had given her the strength she needed to escape. Susan walked down the row of weight and picked up the 50 kilogram dumbbell. It was hefty but not so heavy that she could not heft it with one hand. It has hefty enough to crush a skull.

Susan returned to the room where the master slept. She hated him. She wanted to see his brains dashed all over the white shoji panels. She wanted to repay him for the loss of her soul.

Susan picked up the weights and held it above her head. She carefully aimed and started to bring it down on the master's head. However, her muscles locked up and she was paralyzed, standing over the man she wanted to kill the most in the world.

_Susan. You have killed before. You can do it._

However the harder she tried the more her muscles locked up.

The Master yawned in his sleep, rolled away, and stood up.

"Good work Susan-chan. I see that you are your father's daughter. I see you have inherited his abilities...great. However, you forget that I am the master and you are mine to serve me as I see fit."

Hirotaka pours sake into his cup and then took a sip.

"You may continue your motion."

The weight smashed through the floor and the floor below.

"Impressive. You are strong. However, you forget the hallmark of a true master. We never leave a stone unturned or a move unplanned. When I modified you and your sister, I hardwired something into your head...you can not harm...nor can you outlive your master. You can't even stand by and let another attempt to kill me. If I die, you die. Unless I give you to a new master, you are mine forever. Oh yes, I also fixed things so you cannot kill yourself. You may accompany me to the baths."

Susan did not need to hear her sister's warning. He would force his way into her again in the bath.

Susan hung her head in shame. Her sister died in an attempt to allow Susan a chance at escape. Now Susan know her sister's death was for nothing. Susan bit her lips to hide the tears.

"Bend over. Remember this...one you control a woman's womb...you control a woman. Now that you have bled, you are a woman."

He injected something into her abused bowels.

"Don't remove this. I have decided to let you enjoy the pleasure now that you have learned your place. Your spirit is not yet broken. A part of you still wishes to see me dead. However that part will not be tampered with. I have something else to fix."

The man hit a button on the remote and there was a buzz inside her body. A sensation that she never felt before ripped through her body. Susan grew weak and collapsed in a heap of pleasure.

"This device will make you mine, Susan-chan. With it you will break and be ready for your purpose in life."

Susan hated herself for feeling pleasure. She had failed. She failed to avenge her sister. She failed to kill the man who destroyed everything. She failed and now she was being rewarded.

Susan let loose an animal like scream.

"Good. You will soon learn that pleasure and pain are the same. You will find your body will betray your will. Now let me take my pleasure. First you have to beg me."

"Never."

However the buzz intensified. Soon Susan cried, pleaded, begged for this to end.

"Susan-chan, you have asked me to end it. However, you must pay a price...your womb is mine...your child shall be mine."

Susan was so far out of it that she agreed...she would have agreed to anything to end this.

The master smiled as he took her and filled her now ready womb with his fluid. Susan knew that she had been broken.

"It won't be today...but soon you will give me what I want."

"Yes master," Susan said as she surrendered to the darkness.

The last thing she saw was the image of her sister weeping at her defeat.

**End of Sick Wrong Section **

* * *

Police Sergeant Alexsei Alekseevich Olenkhna and Police Technical Sergeant Vladmir Sabin Kohl looked upon the young boy, Police Private Gregory Alekseevich Zhukov, as he finished reporting the results of the interrogation to their boss Police Major Timofey Posibeev.

Timofey was lying on the cot in the old doctor's cottage. A network of improvised machines was keeping the boss fed and breathing. All three men now know that the boss was the legendary Cossack mercenary.

After the report the boss was silent as he considered his options and his words.

"We are in a war. Ivan Akat'evich is dead. Our enemies will not rest until we or they enjoy the big sleep. I cannot go out in the field anymore. I cannot run...away."

Timofey closed his eyes.

"One lung is no good. However I still got this." Timofey took in a breath and tapped the side of his skull.

"I need you three to protect the women and kids. We are going to...war."

All three watchers nodded. There was no more arguments...the war already came to them.

Gregory cleared his throat, "We have to ship the merchandise tomorrow. The bodies have been disposed of. However, there will be more. Also I got a teletype from Police Headquarters in Moscow. They are sending a team from OMON here to apprehend one Iosef Ilyavich, a former KGB officer turned hit man. They will be here tomorrow."

"So we hand them Iosef's corpse."

Gregory suddenly went pale, "He did not die a pleasant death. I had to persuade him to talk."

Suddenly the room was dead silent as the assembled police officers translated the young boy's euphemisms.

"We hand them Iosef, after we burn all the bodies. Dig up and burn them all. No have Vladmir blow up bodies."

Gregory nodded, "Yes boss. It will be as you request."

The young boy gave the boss a slight bow and walk outside followed by the wildly grinning Vladmir Kohl, the resident explosives nut.

"Alexsei, help boy. Get drunk. Hand him off to Anastasia Radikevna and let her know that Gregory needs her."

Alexsei nodded.

"He's alone all his life. He deserves better even if it's one night."

Timofey hated feeling so weak and helpless. He hated seeing the tears in his wife's eyes. He hated himself for ruining everything. He could not protect his family. He could not protect those who depended on him. He was now trapped in a war where the enemy had everything and all he had were his demons.

A warm body lay down next to him.

"Don't say a word honey. We will not let them force us out of our home."

Tim Possible wanted to tell his wife that things would work out. However, she was the one with the faith. He was the one with the doubts. He wanted to tell her to leave this place. He wanted to tell her to take Svetlana and flee to Middleton. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry for messing everything up.

However, he could not figure out what to say and even if he did, he did not have the breath to say it. The few words he spoke earlier taxed his only lung.

He fell into the darkness wondering if things would ever be right again.

* * *

Edward Hertzberg looked on as a young Russian police private met them. Despite wearing a police major's uniform, there was something that told the ex-US Navy SEAL that the young man will not be easy to handle.

Something about the private unnerved him. Hertzberg did not know what until he got a good look at the young private's eyes.

_This one is a killer. _

In the wild, predators instinctively recognize one another. Likewise on the battlefield.

Everyone hand their trigger fingers ready.

"Private, where is your commander?"

"The man you seek is dead. Iosef Ilyavich resisted arrest. I killed him."

It was the truth, but it was not the whole truth.

"I need to speak to your commander. Where is he?"

"He told me to tell you the news and hand over the remains."

"Iosef was wanted alive..."

"Iosef and his goons killed one of my friends and wounded my commander. He shot at women and children." The young man whistled and another police officer came with a body bag. "Inside are the remains of Iosef Ilyavich and the paperwork. If you want, I have a dozen more where that came from."

"I still need to speak to him."

The young man called in his sergeant. Two minutes later, there was an answer.

"The major was gravely injured. The doctor will allow only one visitor, no exceptions. Major, please follow me."

Ed commanded his men to stand down and secure the cargo. However, his men were gearing up for trouble. Something was terribly wrong and Hertzberg did not know what.

At least he did not know what until he passed the first berm. There was a police officer with a machine gun trained on the helicopter.

"Sorry major, our pal's buddies were all wearing police uniforms. We are taking no chances."

Ed suddenly felt the cold muzzle of a pistol poking him in the ribs. The pistol was in the hand of the young kid and the muzzle was dangerously steady. From the look in the eyes, all these men were experienced killers. A pair of hand expertly frisked him even dispassionately thumping him in the balls to make sure he did not hide anything.

"As long as you behave, we will be good hosts. If not, I hope you confessed your sins to the priest because your next job will be bear bait. If you are legitimate, we apologize, but we had troubles."

It took five minutes before Ed saw the village. There were a lot of bullet holes in the walls and shattered windows. The village looked like an urban combat live fire training center. The former Navy SEAL walked to the indicated door.

The private holstered his pistol and looked at the unwanted guest.

"I am holstering my pistol now. Don't think of anything funny because our doctor will vent your brains with shotgun if you do."

The young boy knocked on the door, "Major Posibeev, it's Major..."

"...Bodrianko." Ed lied.

The door was opened and the old doctor came out.

"Bodrianko, you have five minutes. My patient was hit in the lungs and can't speak much. Yes or no questions only...no long explanations."

Ed nodded and entered the door.

Inside was male in his late twenties or early thirties. This apparently was the Major Posibeev that commanded this village. Ed's problem was this major look exactly like a young Global Justice agent twelve years ago on a snatch in Serbia.

"Tim Possible?"

The ways the eyes twitched told Ed that his memory was dead on. The eyes were scared like a crab without its shell.

Suddenly he felt the muzzle of a shotgun pointed at his temple.

"Timofey...He is no Russian police major."

* * *

It was midnight when the pair found a relatively safe place to rest.

One would think that a pair of young, sexually active teen would head in to the nearest inn, rent a room, and run up a hefty room service tab. In fantasyland, maybe...but in the real world, inns, even hostels required identification or at least a credit card number.

So the pair went into the warehouses and found a place hidden among the pallets of produce. Sleeping on a 1.25 by 1.25-meter pallet of eggplants was not exactly romantic, but it was better than sleeping on cold earth.

In Nara, the government had long since replace traditional park benches with tubular stainless steel pipes that would cause any who fell asleep on it to roll right off. Also hanging out with the homeless would not work. Vee had seen the local police chase off anyone who looked like a vagrant and the few she did see was in their sixties. Unlike inner city America, there were no ranks of teenage runaways living on the streets.

Worse, there was a new trend of homeless people being hunted down, assaulted, and in some cases killed. To hide the numbers, the police have been ruling the deaths accidents and suicides, but it was common knowledge. Even armed, the teens could not risk hiding out in the parks.

Twice the pair ran into violent gangs of teens seeking sport. One was defused by Vee's quick knockout of the leader. However, the other one required the display of a pistol.

Now the local television anchors were interviewing the teens who portrayed themselves as innocent. The use of a pistol in a robbery was being covered like the DC Sniper case with its own theme music, graphics, and breathless anchors decrying the increase in _kireru_ or the _snapping_ of youths. The local police were promising results and were raising the ante.

What Vee hated the worse was the fact that she was now wanted for a robbery she did not commit.

The police were raiding nightclubs, hotels, everywhere one would think to find the pair. Even the capsule hotels were being watched. So they were stuck sleeping in a warehouse. Ronnie was snoring while Vee was on watch contemplating what would happen.

Vee knew from experience that warehouses open early for receiving and that they would have to be out of here by two in the morning. Too tired to sleep and too wired to relax, the young girl climbed out of the pallet size box of eggplants and started to scrounge the warehouse for anything she could use.

There was not much. The Japanese were obsessive about order and there was not much out of place that Vee could steal without someone missing it in the morning.

Vee examined the Casio G-Shock clone on her wrist. It would be half an hour before she would have to wake up her boyfriend. Vee walked into the locker rooms. Hanging in the lockers were uniforms, two of which she liberated and carefully placed in her backpack.

_Vee, you are running out of time, ideas, and excuses._

Violetta hated being alone with her thoughts. With Ronnie awake, he could kept her in a pleasant mood. However, today he was not very happy and Vee knew that she could not blame him. Having to undergo the piercings was not pleasant. Having to act like a bitch was not pleasant. Being hit on by a fag...if she did not command him to grovel at her temple...Ronnie would have violently proved his sexual orientation.

Soon it would be time for the pair to assume another identity.

Violetta went to the computer and lit it up. She googled for an English language street map of Nara and the surrounding area, but the best she could find was a tourist site seeing map. Reluctantly she printed it out for lack of a better alternative. Just as she shut down the computer, she head the sound of a door being opened.

_Oh crap...I forgot, the managers here play a game of who can work the longest hours._

Violetta ducked under the desk and readied her pistols.

_Crap...sunglasses. If they see my eyes._..

However, the lights were not turned on.

Violetta peeked over the lip of the observation window. These were not workers. They were too well dressed. They were armed.

Suddenly there was a shout and two shots.

Violetta was breathing heavily.

_Ronnie...they..._

Violetta stood up and aimed. She squeezed the trigger twice.

She missed and the walls around her were sporting bullet holes. Vee dropped and rolled toward the door.

She could feel the vibrations as someone ran up the stairs. She raised her pistol towards the door. As the door opened, she pulled the trigger. The figure at the door dropped down straight to the floor.

She had messed up. She had shot the wrong man.

Ronnie was on the ground bleeding to death.

_It's all your fault. If you remembered what Tita Lori taught you about identifying your target before you pulled the trigger, Ronnie would still be alive._

Vee knew that she killed Ronald Stoppable Possible. She looked at the gun and wanted to us it on herself. She could not. Outside were at least three men who were armed and shot at her.

Vee held back her tears. Soon she knew that she would pay for her crime. Vee stepped out the office and started shooting. She was singing some insane tune at the top of her lungs as she sought her own salvation...her own damnation.


	54. Spiraling Out of Control

**Moving Onwards**

Spiraling Out of Control

By Pat Squared

* * *

_Nara Grocer Cooperative Warehouses_

_Commercial District, Nara, Nara Prefecture_

_Japan_

Violetta Lee was breathing heavily trying to suck in a deep gulp of oxygen while trying not to make too much noise.

There was a familiar tightness in the chest as adrenaline was dumped by the tanker-load into her blood stream.

_Ronnie...they…_

Violetta stood up and aimed at the approaching Yakuza thug. Placing the blade of the front sight over the torso of her first target, the fourteen-year-old Eurasian girl squeezed the trigger twice sending out two bullets at supersonic speeds.

She missed and the cheap-grade, industrial drywall around her were sporting bullet holes from the wild rounds for the Yakuza _kobun_ (soldiers). Vee dropped to the floor and rolled so she was facing the only door leading up to the office.

She could feel the vibrations transmitted through the plywood flooring as someone ran up the stairs. She raised her pistol towards the door. As the door opened, she pulled the trigger. The figure at the door dropped down straight to the floor.

It was then that Violetta realized that she had messed up. She had shot the wrong man.

Ronnie Possible, Violetta's best friend-boy friend, was on the ground bleeding to death and there was no denying this was her fault.

_It's all your fault. If you remembered what Tita Lori taught you about positively absol-fucking-lutely identifying your target before you pulled the trigger, Ronnie would still be alive._

Vee knew that she killed Ronald Stoppable Possible. She looked at the gun and wanted to use it on herself. However, something inside of her did not let her pursue that avenue of escape from her skill.

A lifetime of being spoon-feed guilt along with Friday fish every Lent ensured that the girl was Catholic enough to view suicide as a non-option. Outside were at least three men who were armed and shot at her. She could at least ensure that not one of them would defile her lover's body.

Vee held back her tears. Soon she knew that she would pay for her crime in hell…a hell that she had just created for herself.

Vee stepped out the office and started shooting. She was singing some insane tune at the top of her lungs as she sought her own salvation...her own damnation.

If this was an action movie, there would be a pulse pounding soundtrack done by some techno-junkie disc jockey. However this was the real world, not the Matrix. There was no One. There were no superhuman agents able to dodge bullets. There was no eventuality of an anomaly that despite the sincerest efforts of the architect to eliminate from an otherwise harmony of mathematical precision, that even created fluctuations in the simplest of equation…thus yielding heroes with superhuman powers. There were just flying copper-clad lead projectiles and a room full of flesh and blood folks who would dish out lead like Santa dished out candy to all the good boys and girls.

Violetta took in a deep breath, indexed the blade of the SIG-Sauer P226 front sight on the torso of a Hugo Boss clad thug, squeeze the trigger twice, thus forever converting a eight-hundred dollar suit into worthless, blood-soaked rags. The wearer went from being alive to worthless, even as an organ donor.

The rush of killing was new to her, but struck her every bit as much as the orgasms that struck her when Ronnie was pleasuring her flesh. The rush almost killed her as bullets flew pass her head.

The young girl ducked and rolled away from the wall as the other thugs poured lead into the low wall were she was hiding.

Vee half-ran/half-rolled down the rough, metal screen stairs as more rounds narrowly missed her. She wasted a magazine, firing blinking to get them to duck. The girl hit the magazine release and cursed. Unlike American handguns where the magazine would drop free when the magazine release was thumbed, the most Europeans guns required one to physically remove the magazine.

_Why couldn't I have a GLOCK?_

GLOCK's or at least the ones made for the US market would drop the magazine upon hitting the magazine release allowing for more rapid reloading.

Vee dropped behind a pallet of watermelons as she removed the magazine while uttering choice curses. She then inserted a fresh magazine. She pulled the warm slide back and then released it, allowing the slide to travel forward and chamber a fresh round of standard Japanese police issue 115-grain 9x19mm Parabellum.

She looked up to see two men approaching her. They were smiling like they believe that they had the drop on her.

Anger…just seeing how they believe that she was just another girl increase the rage in her veins. The anger added to a lifetime of anger and resentment turned her into something that would give any hell-spawn pause. She surrendered her self-control to all her inner demon and in this four foot nine inch eighty pound frame were enough demons to render each and every variant of hell into a cram the pledges into the phone both contest.

Vee did not aim like she was taught by her Tita Lori a lifetime ago at the Middleton PD firing line.

Like every gang-banger in those early 1990's movies, the young lady just sprayed fifteen 115-grain copper clad projectiles knocking the two men to the floor. She reloaded her pistol with her last magazine and cautiously made her way forward to the dying men. Two shots entered the cranial cavity of the first, yakuza soldier.

"Please," the second one moaned. He lifted his hand in supplication.

She smiled, "I hope that you have something interesting to tell me about my father."

"Who is your father?"

She smiled. The pleasure in running in her twisted veins caused her to giggle.

"Your boss. I guess I have to see daddy dearest and deliver my nine millimeter message myself."

The look of realization on the dying man's face told her that he just made the connection.

"Die bitch," were his last two words.

She slowly twisted the muzzle into the man's mouth. He closed his eyes waiting for the final shot.

She did not squeeze the trigger.

"Do you think that my father would be…merciful?" She screamed as she yanked the muzzle out of the man's mouth. The front blade sight shattered the man's top front tooth as it came out.

The man screams were loud enough to wake the dead.

She aimed at his gut and emptied the magazine into his stomach and liver.

She found herself laughing, savoring the man's pain. No one…not even the world's best doctor with the best equipment could save the man. She reached into the man's suit pocket and removed the handkerchief. She wiped the blood off her face. Something primal inside of her told her to taste the blood and she sucked upon the bloody handkerchief like she once sucked a lollipop. The coppery taste of life blood gave her a rush as powerful as her daily dose of medication.

She carefully searched the two and took two magazines of ammunition.

The young child knew that she only had thirty rounds…not enough for another gun-fight. Unless she faced only one opponent and she had the drop, she would be short.

The last of her innocence ripped away, Vee was caught up in a twister of emotions. In a way, killing them felt like the ultimate pleasure...like she was born to be a predator, just like her biological father. She had just destroyed everything positive in her life and now she had to live with the knowledge that she would never belong among normal tax-paying, law-abiding citizens. She belongs with the scum of the universe. If the Empire was recruiting new Storm Troopers, she would be the ideal candidate. After nearly killing the ones you love, killing innocent, little Jawas was as natural as scratching an itch. No…she enjoyed killing the little Jawas and the dark part of her savored their screams and the taste of their blood.

Vee went upstairs and googled a list of doctors in Nara. She then searched for a home address and googled directions. It was twenty blocks to the nearest doc's, but she knew that she had to try to get Ronnie to one. Even if he did not make it, Mrs. Possible deserved to at least bury Ronnie.

As for her, Vee knew that all she ever did was disappointing the ones who took her under their wing. Like a dying cat, she would wander off so they would not have to waste tears, time, or money to bury her worthless hide.

* * *

"God damnit!"

Han "Hannah" Stoppable looked down at the personalized artwork on her I-Phone IX.

The twenty-one year-old, Cal-Arts, graphics art/animation major had just spent two sleepless nights working on her final project for her graduation portfolio. She had scheduled twelve hours of sweet blissful sleep so she would be functional for the two-day drive from Valencia, California to see her step-parents back in Middleton. Now some _baka_ in Japan wanted her to pick up the phone. She glanced down at the organic crystal display screen as the annoying voice chanted, "_Konichi-wa_" (Good morning) over and over again.

The phone was free. Unfortunately, so was the annoying ring tone. It was part of her perks for digitally modeling the characters for a new Japanese gaming company planning to release the must have game of the year this upcoming holiday season.

Han hated Japan. She hated being hit on by every drunk and had to straighten out numerous gropers on the subway…Ninja style.

The memory of two _baka_ (idiots) being wrapped like pretzels around the nearest pole brought a smile to her face until she looked down at the phone number.

It was the Yamanouchi school. They knew exactly what time it was in SoCal. This call was an emergency and Han knew that an emergency at Yamanouchi meant Ronald Stoppable Possible or his girlfriend was in a world of shit. If it was something minor like an unplanned pregnancy, they would wait until the morning.

"Mushi mushi," Han snarled into the phone.

Two minute later, Han was dialing up Japan Airlines hoping to secure a last minute seat to Tokyo. She cursed all the way down the I-405 South to LAX.

She had to locate and detain her step-nephew, Ronald Possible, and his girl friend before the law caught up to them…or worse.

The problem was that deep down in her guts, Han already knew that the worse already happened.

* * *

"Long time no see, Eddy," hissed Tim through his only functional lung.

The sound of the improvised respirator was the only sound that otherwise violated the silent room.

The silence went on for an eternity until the former US Navy Seal uttered, "Everyone thinks you're dead. I mean…After what happen to your brother and all!"

Edward could see the panic in the stricken man's eyes.

However the tone was calm, "Tell me exactly what happened to Jim."

"Car bomb. Some Islamic nut-job used a car bomb and detonated it just fifty feet from your parents' house. Nearly killed the old Global Justice witch in charge, Betty Director…there was a big man hunt but the trail petered out when some casino security guard kill one with a Semtex vest.

The rhythmic cleaning of Tim's fist were the only overt sign of Tim's frustration.

"They will pay…pay like Drakken's pals…little fucks…ain't going to fuck no more."

Edward knew that Tim Possible's threat was literal. A couple ex-Drakken henchmen were given partial sex-change operations by the man lying in front of him.

Tim Possible tried to get up but failed to get more than his head off the pillow before collapsing from exhaustion.

"Timofey," cooed the old doctor, "You need to rest. Gregory Alekseevich and Valdimir…"

Tim held unto the old man's forearm.

"Edward go…grandfather let our friend go."

"But he can…"

"Enough enemies…don't make more."

Edward then knew just how close to death he was. A whispered word would have done something that a cargo load of lead from others had failed to do.

* * *

Dr. Jiro Abe walked into his small apartment and saw his first gunshot wound patient.

Unlike most chest cutters in the United States, most Japanese doctors never see a live gunshot wound case. The few that did were those who did their residency and internships in the states. Except for the few years he attend medical college in Tokyo and the occasional medical conference, Dr. Abe never set foot outside the Nara prefecture.

The next sight was the first time he stared at the muzzle of a firearm.

"Two to the chest. Entry and exit wounds."

The tone behind the muzzle was clinically dry.

"Who…"

"I did. That's not important. I want you to patch him up while I make a phone call. Hand over your cell phone."

The doctor wordlessly handed over his cell phone before heading to tend his patient.

* * *

Yori snarled a curse before she picked up her cell phone.

"Mushi mushi."

It was a male's voice. The news was the last thing Yori wanted to hear.

"It's was alright to call me. I am sending Police Sergeant Tanaka over to your office. Don't call the local police, it's a special investigation…Public Safety and Intelligence Division special."

The Public Safety and Intelligence Division of the Japanese National Police was the closest thing the Japanese had to the US FBI Counterintelligence Division or the UK's MI-6. A request from the PSID was treated with the same reverence as a command from the Emperor for the old generation.

Hopefully, an alumni of the Yamanouchi school with the proper credentials can keep the lid closed…at least for now.

Ronald Stoppable Possible was being treated fro nearly fatal gunshot wounds and Violetta Lee was still missing. After hearing what just transpired, Yori knew that the young girl was capable of doing anything.

* * *

Violetta fingered the identity card she just stolen from some drunken party girl. Careful to cover up the face of the photo with her thumb, she flashed it to the half-sleeping/half-drunken hotel clerk. She carefully copied the symbols unto the registry.

The room was small. Three mats plus a common unisex bathroom down the hall. It was simple, small, and would be place where she would die when the medication ran out.

A tremor shook her small frame. She recognized the need for the daily poison that destroyed everything good about her.

She looked down at the stolen identity card.

Keiko…firefly…it was a fitting name.

Like her new name sake, the girl would burn brightly for the remainder of her short life. She would find and deal with her father. She would make sure that her father would pay for his crimes.

Another street girl would just be used up on the streets and have little to no contact with the main boss. However, the Japanese were big into entertainers…Entertainers were the new geisha.

Keiko flexed her fingers. She had to become famous enough to get her one shot and yet not so famous that the others would find her before she left this life.

The noise emanating from the television down the hall told her that it was more than possible.

The high pitch, bimbo voice told the young girl that geisha gone digital sold well in the land of the rising microchip.

* * *

**Graphic Scene**

Susan Groningen knew that she was becoming just like her tormenter in a way.

She had begun to enjoy the pain…to feel something beside the emptiness inside her shattered soul.

Susan could see her sister's ghost weep at her becoming more and less than human. A part of her just wanted to laugh at the naivety that the once both had. Susan long since gave up her dreams about being good ever again.

It was time for Susan's morning devotions.

Susan bowed towards the east where the sun would rise in two hours.

"Thank you Master Hirotaka for your blessings. This body is not worthy of carrying your seed and yet you chose it to carry your child. This spirit is not worthy to face the trials you granted to it and yet you grant it pardon. Its soul is not worthy and yet you lifted it up to be your consort…your right hand. This unworthy creature is yours to use as you see fit, Master Hirotaka."

Even though they no longer watched her…they no longer asked or made sure that she did as she was instructed, Susan Groningen faithfully kept chanting the benediction as she whipped herself. She hated him and yet now she needed him to grant her what passed for his love. No one could grant her the pain she needed to feel. She needed to atone for her sins. She needed to atone for ending her sister's journey.

One of her master's minions walked up to her.

"Please hurt this little slut…make this worthless creature a good gift fit for the master," Susan pleaded.

The man took the belt off his waist. He lashed out so the buckle struck and dragged into her flesh.

"Harder," she begged.

Soon there was blood everywhere. The man was red in the face from exhaustion.

"Thank you older brother for disciplining this no good slut. I apologize for your exertions."

Susan felt a light headed pleasure as her body crashed to the wooden floor. She knew she needed the pain. The pain became her drug…her life support. Her penance for doing what is needed to survive and one day…may just one day pay back the monster for all the lives he destroyed. Only then would she be fit to end her days.

"Susan-chan, I have a gift for you," the voice of her master bellowed down the hall.

The door opened and the master was hauling a young nine year-old girl, holding her arm so she had to walk on her tipsy toes.

"Her name is Maiko and she will be your little sister. You will personally train her."

It was her nightmare…and yet a part of her now needed to share her becoming. Susan gently took the scared girl by the hand and led her back to the foot of her master's futon.

"If you fight it, it will only hurt more," Susan whispered, "Promise me you would try to fight it. Accept it. Promise me that you will accept it as I had to learn to accept it. I don't want to hurt you more than I have to. It's time for morning devotions."

Susan stripped the young girl of her clothes, saying, "The master will decide when you are to wear clothing. Don't worry, no one will touch you without the master's blessing."

Susan led the young girl in the chant until the young girl faithfully repeated the lines.

"Keep chanting," Susan cooed as she picked up the riding crop, "No matter what happens…no matter the pain, you must keep chanting until you are told to stop. To stop is to suffer."

Susan stuck the lash in the girl's rear end.

The girl yelped up in surprise. Susan backhanded her across the mouth.

"I did not tell you to stop. That was a love tap. The first time I stopped in the middle of devotions he broke my arm and took me. I am far more merciful than he will ever be. Again."

Sobbing the little cried out the lines as Susan lashed the riding crop across the back of the girl's legs. The sight of the welts and bruises on the young girls flesh both excited and repelled the broken girl.

"I cannot stop him from hurting you," Susan muttered as she kissed away the tears from the little girl's eyes. "All I can do is to show you that there is something besides the pain."

Susan kissed the little girl in the mouth gently.

"Please let me show you something besides the pain. I hurt you because you are my new sister. I hurt you to protect you. I failed my older sister. I let her escape the pain and he hurt me so bad so she could feel my pain even when she was dead. Please don't fight me. I can't fail again. Keep chanting. Accept the truth as I have. It's better that way."

Susan hugged and kissed the little girl as the pair chanted their devotions.

Susan knew her sister was looking at her and wondering just what she was going to say when they speak together tonight.

* * *

Yori examined the letter.

_Yori-sensi,_

_I have destroyed everything._

_I shot Ronnie._

_I am not worthy to live among those I love._

_I found out that I am truly my father's daughter. I inherited his demons._

_I have only one thing left to finish before I see my mother again._

_I must face my father one last time and stop him…even if I fall don't try to save me._

_Please respect my final wish as I don't want others to be hurt on my account._

_Vee_

Yori did not want to believe those words, but she knew that they were the truth.

She studied the police reports. The last one was shot up in the guts and the police linked the pistol to one that was stolen from a police officer in Nara.

Yori had to face the facts. Master Sensei's granddaughter had inherited the Toshi curse.

For generations, young orphan girls were bought from all over Japan and trained in the arts of the _kunoichi_. These girls were twisted by pain, pleasure, and love into predators. Yori had in her procession the ancient documents for creating the perfect kunoichi. The final step of their training was having them kill the ones they love most. Only one of a dozen girls would survive the training and only one of a dozen would survive long enough to complete their mission and bring home their victim's spawn in their growing bellies. Once one did that, they would take pleasuring in killing and hurting anyone. Generations of selective breeding had ensures that the blood of a legion of demons resided in the veins of the descendants of these orphan girls.

Yori knew all too well the siren's call of blood. She felt it with her first kill when she killed the renegade ninja Fukishima.

Enough of her female ancestors were twisted in the same fashion that never today a dark part of her soul wished to hurt others so it can savor the pain. Although the last kunoichi so trained die before the Second World War, the girls of Yamanoichi school use knew the tales of the bloody celebrations that the old kunoichi were wont to hold. Blood, pain, and pleasure…these events more mimicked hell than any other human celebration. It was a dark secret that Yori wanted to hide from her sensei's granddaughter. It was a dark secret that Yori wanted to hide from herself.

_Blood call out to blood._

Yori realized that she had failed to recall the first precept taught to all Yamanouchi kunoichi. _There are demons and they all reside in our blood and soul. We don't fight the demons head on but use them to our advantage_.

Just because five generations passed since Vee's great-great-great grandmother once participated in those bloody revels did not mean the onus her ancestors' sins would not inflict harm on the current generation. By keeping the young girl ignorant of the past, Yori had failed to prepare the child for the siren's call of pain and blood.

Hirotaka wanted to take back the ninja to the old ways. He had just succeeded in turning his child into perhaps the world's most dangerous person.

Only now did Yori perceive Hirotaka's true scheme. He wove the cords of fate so that an unprepared girl would have to face her ancestral curse without any guidance. He was molding the girl into a killer the likes that have not be seen since the Age of a Country at War and she was far too powerless to stop it.


	55. Endgame?

**Moving Onwards**

**Broken Inside**

**By Pat Squared**

* * *

The shakes were the worst part and perversely the best of her current state of existence. 

To conserve the last of her medicine, Violetta Lee had to drop her dose to once a day. For a body that demanded two hits like clockwork, this meant 12 hours of wishing you were dead already.

The small closet-size room she rented was saturated with the odor of her sweat, tears, and blood as the fever was burning her up.

The death of a Red Crystal addict was akin to being the guest of honor at a Spanish Inquisition investigation. In the end burning at the stake was merciful.

A thousand fire ants crawled through her veins and the worst part was that salvation from the pain was only a foot away. One breath of the narcotic and the pain would end. However, when she ran out...she would be alone in this place...dying one millimeter at a time.

Vee wanted to scream, but to scream was to be noticed and to be noticed...Vee hated failure...she hated herself for failing to be good enough to be loved by those who loved her.

However the physical pain was nothing compare to the voices screaming in her head.

The physical pain help distracted her from the demons whispering in her ears.

_Stupid girl...he could only love you because you were his little slut...you killed your mother...now you killed Ronnie...you enjoyed it when you kill__ed__ those men...you are fucked up in the head just like your father._

She needed this penance.

Perhaps if God saw how she suffered, maybe he would let her rejoin her mother in heaven instead of going off to hell. However she knew that the past two days were perhaps the first taste of the hell that would await her at the end of her final mission.

She now knew in a way what is was to be like her mother...wishing for somehow to just be good enough for God to forgive for merely existing.

A wave of burning pain flashed through her small frame. The young teen bit her lip, tasting her blood, in an effor not to scream out in pain. The now familiar coppery taste told her that she was still a part of this world.

However that was not the only pain that haunted her.

Worse than staying awake were the few moments of stolen sleep. Vee had to watch repeatedly as she shot the only real friend that she ever would have.

The jade-eyed girl remembered screaming at herself, but she still pulled the trigger. The worse part was when her dream warpped into a smile that was never on her face. The young teen then watched as she went on a killing rampage. She remembered with shame and excitement about shooting the last of her father's minions in the gut and sending him on a slow, painful ride to hell.

Even now the thought of killing another human being both frightened her and excited her.

* * *

Jennifer Possible crouched on the catwalk in the maintenance hanger. 

It was 4 o'clock in the morning and the object of her surveilance was busy mainting final adjustments to the turbine of the helicopter.

However, it was not helicopter maintance that perked her interest.

The new mechanic was a hunk by any definition of the term.

Six feet two inches tall...two hundred fifteen pounds of lean 100 American hunk. Teal eyes and a permanent tan.

_What's wrong with me? I did everything short of crawling naked into his bed and he turned me down._

Jennifer watched trying to figure out what drove this man to chose a life of isolation.

He displayed no interest in the girls that hung out in town. He show no interest in men either. She snuck into his room and went through his stuff...but there was no sign that he was waiting for some filly.

All there was were maintenance manuals and the FAA test prep booklets he had to study to get his licenses.

There was no identity document. No bank account. It was as if Mr. Xavier just popped onto the face of the earth full grown.

_I will find out your secret and when I do...you will be mine!_

* * *

Vee looked at teh last note she ever would write in this life.

_I am not sure who is worse about karaoke...Filipinos or Japanese. In my short time in the land of the rising sun, every karaoke bar seems to have Filipino dancers and singers and after the bars close they race back to their rooms and break out those Magic Sing karaoke microphones. You think one would get tired after a day._

_I enjoy the badings (Filipino gay males). They do a better Gloria Gayson than any girl I know. Scary, but they are a one person laugh-riot. One...Roberto Flores was the first person to make me smile after I enter this hell. He does a perfect Celine Dion...high notes and all without missing one. If I had a million dollars in my estate...I would gladly will it to him. Smiles are all too rare for me these days._

_It's a messed up way to start this journal, but then I am one messed up girl._

_I once had it all._

_I was an orphan, but I had a wonderful woman who could teach many mothers about love raise me. Even though the law says that we were not family, she was the only family I ever had. I once hoped that there would be some magic pill or treatment that would stop the demons from dragging me down to the devil...some ritual to make me worthy of her love. But there is no such thing. I wish for a lot of things that would never come true._

_The thought of a being the source of all that is wrong and evil was a comfort to me. Then I grew up and learned the truth... I was my own devil._

_I have tasted the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge and there is no going back to the way things were. I wished that there was some way to make things all right as if this was all a bad dream that I would wake up from._

_Lame…but what do you expect from a fourteen-year-old junkie waiting for the fates to cut her thread. That's what's messed up about growing up Catholic. I guess I got enough that I now need the penance of losing everything…everyone I love._

_I am okay for now. Ronnie can probably tell you how I supplemented my income in this place. For a bunch of criminals, the Yakuza are idiots when it comes to protecting their wallets from pickpockets._

_I found a small hostel and faked up some docs saying that my papers were stolen so I got two more weeks before I have to move on._

_However, I have chosen to make my last stand in three nights. My father is visiting a love hotel that one of his associates own via some front companies. I heard that he has two new pets. I cannot wait while he hurts another child like he did my mother._

_This is probably my last words. I wish that I could say more, but now is moment._

_I guess that all I have to say is that I am sorry for not being worthy of your love and affections. Sometimes I wonder if some imp swapped me, its little imp, and the real Violetta Lee when I was in the cradle. If so, I owe that little girl more than an apology for having her stolen from perhaps the best family in the world._

_Goodbye,_

_Tell Ronnie..._

Vee looked at the letter on the back of a flyer for some high school girl during the escort thing in the evenings to buy those extra Gucci bags that all the girls now seem to sport.

_I love you is too..._

She wanted to cross out that line, but somehow she knew that he will one day read the letter. It was best that she perhaps go out in the classic Vee sytle.

_Tell Ronnie to stop picking his nose in public otherwise the only action he will ever get is from Madam Palm and her five little fillies. I don't want him to get that carpal-tunnel crap that all those chronic w__h__ankers seem to get._

Sardonic...she remembered hearing that word when some salty old Roman catholic father described himself. She was salty in her own way.

The final paragraph was perhaps the most important message that he will ever read. All he had to do was read between the lines. She doubted that he ever would, but maybe there would be hope that one day he would know that she died inside the moment she pulled that trigger.

Vee looked down the top of the black slide of the police issued Sig Saur P226 pistol she _borrowed_ from the police officers Ronnie and she ambushed back in Nara.

For hours in the middle of the night, the young girl stared down the slide at the front sight burning into her mind the sight picture until the sights perfectly line up on target without a thought. One white dot over a white vertical bar...dot centered on the white vertical niche. It was a connection with a part of her heritage. Some of her ancestors were samurai who meditated for hours on the perfect draw to cut down their foes.

The problem was that their foes did not use swords to bring them down.

Her female ancestors used sex and poisoned hairpins to do the job. No one told her outright about Yamanouchi_ kunouchi_, but she did enough research on her own. The Medici had poisoners. The Yamanouchi had perfected the method of training and inserting bed partners that were more deadly than any VD carried by some third world prostitute.

She finished typing her note and left it in the futon. At the end of the week, the police would find this place and perhaps Yori would pull some strings to get a peek at the letter.

Vee slid into a kimono she stole for this evening. She looked at the photograph she ripped off a Japanese magazine. She looked at the make-up kit. She knew that this would be the final image the world would have of her. All dolled up like a geisha...no a courtesan.

Tonight she would have to get a job to get close for her final act.

She had a plan worked out so she hopefully would not have to let some drunken bastard enjoy what she had only shared with Ronnie, but she knew that if things did not work out...

It did not matter since she was not a real girl like the victims of her father were.

* * *

Timothy James Possible watched on as the villagers buried their dead. Using equipment from the mine would make digging into the hard soil of the Siberian tundra easier, but for this only muscle and primitive hand tools would be fitting.The old, somber, grey clad Russian orthodox priest chanted his lines and then the bodies were buried. Two villagers then tossed in handfuls of lime to speed the decomposition of the bodies before covering the body in rocks. Then the animals would not come and desecrate the remains of the loved. 

He wondered how the family handled his brother's funeral.

Did they mourn him too or did they hold out hope that he was still alive?

Either way, he did not want to find out the answer to that question.

Jim was dead.

It would only be fitting that Timothy James Possible be dead too.

Secrets would get out. Secrets always did. His parents would find out about all the things that he did on his futile quest to avenge Ron Stoppable. Having buried the past is a lot easier than living in the present.

Marie squeezed his hand in a vain attempt to comfort him.

However, even having her love was painful. His wife and kid were reminders of the lives he tore apart.

He looked on at his men. They had buried a comrade and wanted to return the favor. He wanted to tell them...to show them that urge for revenge was the first signpost on the superhighway to hell.

But asking to turn the other cheek was a none-option in this harsh land of birch trees and alcoholic authors who write stories of despair and angst. Besides Tim was more Old Testament rather than a follower of a carpenter turned storyteller from Galilee

Timofey Posibeev had to be the Cossack. He had to live the legend of a bastard so mean that the Devil refused him entry to Hell because the Devil was afraid that the Cossack would overthrow the damned for pampering the damned.

Tim tried to take a deep breath, but that only brought on a lung spasm.

Tonight, he would return back to the machine shop. Tonight he would tap into the dark side of his imagination and create something that only the evil Possible twins could engineer.

The _Brothers Possible Evil Elves' Siberian Workshop_ would work on something that would be a lot more dangerous that anything they ever had Rufus test pilot.

An all too familiar part of Tim's mind was actually getting giddy and that more than anything else scared him.

* * *

Will Du had carefully listened to Edward Hertzberg's debrief on the recovery of Iosef Ilyavich's remains. Normally the head of Global Justice would be upset that a simple snatch and grab was messed up by the workings of fate. The resident coroner confirmed the time of death and there was no way that Edward Hertzberg could have prevented the former KGB officer's death. 

However, he was carefully plotting the possibilities. The rest of the project believed that Tim Possible was dead. Killing him would tie up some loose ends, but his DNA was worth a lot to the project. According to the major, Tim supposedly had a wife and child, but did not get a visual confirmation.

Tim Possible was expendable. Ultimately everyone was expendable in the pursuit of the Project's goal to bred what he termed _homo sapiens parabellum_. However, expending one's resources carelessly was counterproductive. Sacrifices are only made to bring in something more.

A child was good enough to transmit Tim's Possible DNA, but Will believed in redundancy. He would wait for a second before taking care of the problem that an uncontrollable Tim Possible could pose.

He then thought of another Possible.

Kim...

As a youth he deliberately acted incompetent so she would underestimate him as villains had underestimated Ron Stoppable. She thought him some staff puke. However, he was no ordinary staff puke with a swivel chair butt and thickening mid-section. He had personally killed three armed men with his bare hands back in Istanbul and put four more in the cripple wing of a Turkish prison. He had done his share of field work.

The easy part was getting the job done. The hard part was doing while pretending to be the worst possible field agent without getting fired or taken off the career track.

By rights Kim Possible should be excluded from the project. She failed the final examination. She lacked the ruthlessness to pull the trigger. Only Ron Stoppable's heroic performance guaranteed the continuation of her DNA in the project. To correct any unnecessary tendencies for mercy, Will would have to breed Kim's offspring to someone with the genetic gift for violence. He had two candidates lined up for the job.

However, there was something about Kim Possible that fueled his wet dreams.

Justine Payne, his assistant and one time lover, had the perfect DNA by contemporary project standards. Sired by the Light Bringer himself, Justine Payne was beautiful, ruthless, and deadly. However, Justine did not have the same persona that Kim Possible had. Kim Possible was taught and believed that she was unstoppable. Kim would do things that Justine would prudently walk away form.

Killing Ron Stoppable snuffed some of that 'Can-Do' spirits, but did not entirely extinguish it. Will had meet Kim on several occasions and a part of him still desired to make her his. Kim in the courtroom still radiated that aura of ... No thesuarus had the words, but Kim Possible was still Kim Possible.

Will had his goals and mastered the art of manipulating others to get his ends. He wanted to be the next Light Bringer. He wanted to bring down high and mighty Kim Possible and show the world that she was just as much of a slut as Will's mother was.

Will knew that everyone had a weakness.

Justine would do anything to protect their daughter.

Kim, he knew, would do anything to protect her only remaining link with Ron Stoppable...her son. Mothers were always that way.

Will planned to call Hirotaka. Hirotaka would take back his child and ensure that Shego's genetic legacy would live up to the billing. Ronnie Possible would then follow and Will would use his knight and a pair of jokers to take down a queen.

Maybe he would have Kim Possible attend to his baser needs as he ordered the hit on her troublesome brother. The image of the high and mighty Kim Possible giving him head as he ordered Hirotaka to have Ronnie Possible and his girlfriend whack the last Possible in his way brought a rare sincere smile to the Global Justice director.

Tim Possible was a priest of the gods of the old school like the Old Testament Jehovah. The very god who commanded the Children of Israel to _"N__ow go, attack the Amalekites and totally destroy everything that belongs to them. __Do not spare them; put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys."_

Tim Possible had eliminated many of the megalomaniacs that had once made up the mainstay of super villains that Global Justice had fought. Today, the super villain was dead. Even dead...the rumors of what the Possible twins had done keep the replacements from coming unto the field.

Soon Will was going to someone rid him of that troublesome priest just after he gets rid of the others in his way.

* * *

Ronald Possible's return to the land of the living was anything but pleasant. 

Having a tube shoved down his throat, a colostomy bag needing emptying, and tied down to a hospital bed are bad enough.

However, what was worse than waking up in pain and disgrace was not knowing what happened.

The staff had removed his respirator tube, but no one said a word to him.

Days went by punctuated by some nurse in nurse hanging new IV bags and giving him shots to go to sleep.

The door opened and the Japanese version of Nurse Ratchet came by to change his _shit_ bag and shoot him with the next installment of drugs.

Trying to speak was an exercise in futility. They would not even acknowledge his presence. Just work on him like a pathologist works on a corpse. Correction...a pathologist had a more stimulating conversation with a corpse than he did with the hospital staff.

Ronnie closed his eyes and waiting for the cool chemicals to enter his veins. The painkillers were cool in their way. He now grew to love the liquid love. Sex was sex...The ultimate upper. The cool liquid love was like the afterglow...like when he cuddled with his girl just before he fell asleep.

However, he did not want them to know that Vee was part of the trouble that he was in. If she somehow got away with it...he did not want to rat her out to the cops. He never ratted her out before and now he was not going to start.

The door slammed open and a voice ripped apart the quiet that was part of this room.

"Ronald Stoppable Possible...young man you are in for a world of hurt."

There were only two ladies in the world that would say that line. Grandma Stoppable did not have black hair so that mean Auntie Han. Having a ninja in the family...even if adopted...was not all roses.

"Auntie Hannah!" he coughed up.

"Don't Auntie Han me. Why couldn't you just knock your girlfriend up? That way I would not have to fly all the way to Japan to drag your sorry butt home. Your mom could get use to seeing a lttle rug rag. Don't you know what your father's death...she never got over it. The only reason she is still functioning is because she had you. If you die...Christ almighty...I was only five and I still remember your mom's meltdown. At least with a baby...in a couple months everyone will be gaga waiting for your rug-rats to shit, eat, and cry at all god forsaken hours of the night."

It was hard to concentrate when you had liquid love flowing in your veins. It could be understandable that Ronnie grasp on reality was what one could vaguely define as loose.

"Rug-rats...you mean Vee is..." Ronnie started hyperventilating as he connected erroneously the concept of girlfriend and rug-rats.

Ronnie Possible got smacked in the face by a female for the first time in his life.

"Knowing your sorry ass, you will probably have twins. You don't go halfway into trouble."

"Twins? You are telling me that you are having twins."

He just got smacked the second time.

"Yori-sensi, don't tell me you got my nephew stuck on cloud nine!"

"Sorry, Han-chan. But otherwise he would be digging in the colostomy bag and screaming in pain."

Ronnie had a shit eating smile on his face.

"Ronnie...Bag or no shit bag...you are in a world of trouble. When you get off cloud nine you will wish that the cops got to you first. Your mother will especially love those earings let alone those eyebrow rings. Your should think pretty hard about what she will do when she sees your new scars."

Ron laughed.

"Not even your father could get in as much trouble as you."

* * *

Centuries of selective breeding had already honed her into something that she wished that she was not. Kids think being some kind of ninja was cool. 

_If they only knew back in Middleton.._

Being a ninja meant forever being a lone wolf...never to run with a packNever to belong Always being a sense of déjà vu or a vague memory. Never to be anything more than a weapon...a tool...to take down a foe. Never to love or be worthy of love.

She had inherited the right sequence of genetic markers for tonight's work.

From her father's side she inherited the ability to do things that would only appear in some over the top Hong Kong action flick. From her mother, she inherited the ability to recover rapidly from trauma. However, she did not have anything in her DNA to cure her of the loneliness in being a creature of the shadows loved someone of the light.

There was pain in loving the light for someone such as she and now she knew it.

She might be a smart mouth. She might be at times sarcastic. However, she was shy around boys. The thought of flirting...being next to naked around drunken men made her want to vomit and run away. However to do so was to run away from the last thing that she could ever do to make things right.

_Yes...as if I cannot fuck this up like I fucked everything else up._

With a vow to do only what is required to get the position she needed, she reluctantly slid off out of her kimono and let his eyes rape her. She bit her lip wondering what they would think of her…not that it mattered. She knew they already hated her.

_Stupid…ingrate…slut_. Only a slut would work in this place. She closed her eyes. If the police did not find her mother, she knew that she would have already lost count of how many perverts rented her hollow shell out.

"Pretty. On the skinny side, but there are men who like their girls to act younger. What can you do?"

Vee thought for a minute knowing her answer would set the limits on her slow slide into hell. She needed the illusion that she was in control even if in the end he knew and she knew that if she lived long enough...she would slide all the way. She seductively bent over, carefully allowing the pig to examine her ass, and grabbed the riding crop that some hooker left on the floor by the messy desk.

"Tell those worms that they must prove themselves before even kissing my whip."

"But…"

Vee lashed out with the whip stricking her potential employer accross the cheek drawing a thin line of blood.

"Be quiet you little rodent. Did I tell you that I want you to speak. No. Then what made you think that I wanted your breath to pollute the air I am breathing."

"So you are a kinky bitch even though you look like a little school girl. I like kinky. How about…"

"Don't even think about it. When I train a new lover, I wear red for a reason."

"What…"

Vee shook her head and made her tone empty-headed as any Valley Girl of legend and lore could ever dream of being, "Blood is so hard to wash off my whites. When you see me in my red leathers, expect to pay the cleaning lady extra."

Vee added the high pitch geisha giggle that Japanese expect from their sex objects.

The young girl slid back into her kimono.

"Tell your clients that I have three rules. One, they better not forget the safe word. Two, cash up front with zero refunds. And three, my life outside the club is my life outside the club. No private appointments outside my shift. No way in hell am I submissive. No maggot yet rates high enough to earn the right to my box. No videos."

The look in her eye told him that trying to use her for his sideline would not be a good thing for now. Besides, he wanted to keep those special clients returning. She was every bit as ruthless than any Yakuza pimp he ever ran across and it showed.

Greed and cowardice played out. Cowardice would win for now.

Five minutes later, Violetta walked out of the back office violated in a way that not even her mother was violated.

The monster that was her father broke her mother's spirit would be here in three days time. She had sought out this place...this local corner of damnation. She had tapped into the same darkness her father did fifteen years ago when he force his seed into a broken ten year old girl and forever immortalized the event by siring her.

_Free admission…slippery when wet. Why not have a whore-off!_

The demons were whispering in her soul. They always would ensure that she would never be alone. Slowly she staggered to the three-mat room that would be her final home wondering what would happen when those she loved found out what she became. She was truly her father's daughter and knew it. She knew why Ms. Possible drank so much. Tonight, she would attempt to match Ms. Possible record for intoxication. She had a bag full of Ichi-ban and sake and would not rest until they were as empty as her soul.

Two hours later, Violetta was beyond drunk.

"Sorry mom…I wasted everything you gave to me. Please forgive me."

However the dead could not forgive. The dead could not remember. The dead were simply dead.

Vee examined the box cutter she snagged from the local hardware store. The knife required something that very few had. The total commitment to the kill. The willingness to do whatever it took to get up close to the target and make close intimate contact. That was the only way, because she knew her father's bodyguards would not allow her to smuggle a pistol into the room. It was one thing to kill in the heat of a moment. It was another to deliberately plan a murder that she was sure that she was going to commit. A part of her became excited. She closed her eyes and remembered the tasting of the blood. It was in its way as necessary as her drugs...her drives were not that of a normal fourteen year old.

She knew that if she was a male...she had the makings of a serial killer. All she needed to do to match the FBI profile was wet her bed, have a bout of pyromania, and torture little animals. But then she always did march to the own tune.

It was a beautiful day when she left the land of the normal. Next stop was someplace that was far to overrated. Hell could not be as bad as her time on this mudball.

* * *

It was 0300 when Timofey Posibeev launched the next salvo in the Mafia wars. 

Three hitchhikers rode underneath a military truck making its way to Perm. At the proper coordinates, they released the electromagnets that held them to the bottom of the truck and fell to the muddy red clay. No one saw the three unwanted guest dropped off and the next three trucks that ran them over did not even flinch. The drivers believed that they only hit one of the numerous pot hots that marked the rough roads of Russia.

0303...The trio opened their multispectrum eyes and ran a calibration check. One had a malfunction thermal sensor, however each unit could communicate with the next. One missing eye did not matter.

0304...The trio finished their start up and activated their silent electrical motors.

0305...The trio took off and reached an altitude of 100 meters. The trio turn on their lights. In the darkness, one can see the variation in light. However, by lighting up to the same brightness as the surrounding sky, no one could see them. At 50 meters, the motors were so silent that no one could hear the whining of the motors.

0312...Upon reaching a predetermined point the trio separated. Flying in a V formation similar to ducks the trio turned off their motor and glided to their final destination. 500 miles away, the controllers carefully selected the target and released the final failsafe. At 0313...the trio pass the point of no return. The controllers turned off their radio and the ability to call the trio off their mission.

0314...Two Russian mafia captains were smoking some Turkish cigarettes in front of a mob controlled bar. The two out-riding gliders made their final adjustment and each squeezed off three rounds of police issue 5.45mm PSM. The rounds were supersonic, hence producing a crack, but the sound suppressor eliminate the muzzle blast. The two targets were dead before the two gliders flew off to the disposal point...a junk yard.

0315...Finding no target, the glider with the malfunctioning thermal camera instead selected its final play. It fired breaking a window and killing a parton. One point three seconds later it flew in and detonated 1.75 meters off the floor. 1,000 grams of Semtex and 500 grams of nails did its job.

The two out riders buried themselves in a rubble pile before detonating turning themselves into scrap metal and melted plastic.

At 0316...Timofey Posibeev had killed fifteen Russian mob underlings and a mid-level captain.

However, there was no time for celebration. Everyone knew that the war would not stop until other was destroyed root and branch.

* * *

_Why the fuck do we spent millions to save an animal that won't fuck to save its own species?_

_Normal is boring...it's insipid…it's the lemmings march off the tip of the iceberg into the cold ocean_.

Violetta Lee had spent years perfectiong the ability to recall everything she read. If she lived long enough, she would end up as one of those annoying know it alls that would win 52-straight weeks of Jepordy. She knew that the fees required to generate a complete psych profile on her could keep Sigmund Freud stocked up with Cuban cigars for the rest of his afterlife with her issues.

She could rebuild her façade of normalcy. If it were not for the drugs, she could move away and start a new life. Maybe go to some east coast college. Get the right piece of parchment. Make the right contacts. Be on the A-list of Hollywood or high society depending where her interest lay. She could do anything...or at least fake anything.

However she knew deep down that she could never shake her past...shake being label the trash can kid in the second grade...shake losing the only thing that ever made her feel real...or at least let her think she was real for a moment.

The liquid mist was the closest thing she would ever have to love.

The love she felt when the poison slid into her lungs was an illusion, but then she was an illusion...a play of a demon girl trying to be normal girl. She had once seen an old movie about that and the ending was tragic. Not even in Hollywood would the demon girl be given half a chance to experience happily ever after.

Hopefully this would be the last hit of the poison that shaped every moment of her existence. By this time tomorrow, it would all be over. There was no way she could kill her father and all his goons. Eleven rounds and a box cutter to slice her view was everything she would need for her starring role in a Wagnerian opera. The only thing missing was a fat lady to sing...but then all she had to do was emasculate some fat goon working for her old man and that squeal would be close enough for tonight's performance.

All that was missing was the yellow and black stripped jumpsuit and the infamous Hittori Hanzo steel so prized in the Kill Bill movies. However, that was some white chick playing ninja. Vee knew that she would be the last ninja of the Yamanouchi line and intended her name to be up there next to Hittori Hanzo and Fuma Kotaro.

Calling her father a rodent would be insulting the little rats that carried the bubonic plague that wiped out forty percent of Europe. Rats deserved more respect...even if they scared her shitless.

Tonight she would wear the red leathers and the mask of her demonic persona. They would buy her entry into the ninth circle of hell. All she would have to do is remember to say hello to Judas Iscariot and Brutus when she saw them.

Her first client was waiting not knowing that it was his daughter that would introduce him to a world of hurt. Hell of a present from a loving daughter.


	56. Mad Sad World

**Moving Onwards**

**Is there any happiness left in this mad sad world?**

**By Pat Squared

* * *

**

_Tokyo, __Japan_

Some people are born again Christians. Violetta "Vee" Lee counted herself among the born again damned.

No one wanted to be born damned, but deep down inside she knew there was no place for her among the good folk going to pass through the pearly gates. The normal folks were the roses in God's garden. She was one of the weeds. Her only hope of salvation was being the weed placed deliberately so that one can better appreciate the splendor of the roses. Maybe it's a part of God's incomprehensible plan and that one day maybe God would enlighten her why she had to be the _trash can kid_ on God's great earth.

From her first memory, she always knew that she was different from the other kids.

Other kids did not spend their first two years living in a hospital. Other kids were not poked and prodded by the doctors like she was. Other kids did not rack up the hospital bills that she did. Within her first six months outside her mother's womb, Vee's hospital bills had surpassed the million dollar mark. For what...the doctors had told Tita 'Berta that her addiction was slowly killing her and there was no cure. Over 14 years, the state of Colorado spent eight point three million on what would soon be a worthless corpse. Due to her addiction to Red Crystal, her organs were not even worth a damn for transplanting. Other kids did not have to endure monthly interviews with the social worker wondering if the authorities would yank her away from the only mother she knew, just because did not give the correct answers, thus failing to con the social worker that she belonged among the normal folk. Since the second grade, since Mrs. Bloom infamous Family Tree Project, she knew that her differences made her less of a real person than the other kids.

Her only hope of being worthy of salvation was to save two lives that she never met.

Despite being the most wanted man in Japan, let alone one of the top ten in the world, the Japanese national police was seemingly incompetent when it came to apprehending Vee's father. Now that Vee had played on their native turf, she knew that most of the Japanese cops were worthless when it comes to dealing with the real crooks. If you dropped one in America's inner city, they would end up in body bags before lunch break, let alone end of shift.

Vee looked at the collection of pistols she had stolen from her father's goons and the two Japanese police officers Ronnie and she had ambushed back in Nara. She, a fourteen year old, had gone around and around on Japan's notoriously crowded subway system with three 9mm Sig Sauer P226 semiautomatic pistols and stood right next to a handful of police officers and yet they were so dense they could not see that she was packing heat. It seemed to her that the only reason the Japanese police ever caught a suspect was that Japanese were probably so conditioned they felt honor bound to turn themselves in the authorities and confess their sins.

In a few short hours, she had found out when and where her biological father would appear with his two latest _toys_ in tow. All it took was some flirting and drinks with the right tattooed victim.

Thankfully, her mother passed on the right set of genes for such work. With the exception of almond eyes and a light golden tinge to her skin, Vee was the size-zero version of her mother. Despise her petit size, Vee also inherited her mother's high tolerance to drugs and alcohol. It seem Japanese could not hold their liquor. She read somewhere some-when that many Japanese lack one of two enzymes that broke down alcohol. Thankfully whatever gene her mother passed down to her prevented her from inheriting that curse from her biological father.

Vee turned on the ancient MePod® that she had snagged from a second-hand electronics store. It was over twenty years old, but highly functional, albeit loaded with music from the 1980's, 1990's, and early zeros. The Gangster crap was the first thing to go. She had spent time at the local internet café downing music among other things. If most people guest her musical preferences...they would guess wrong. Sure she liked her share of rock bands. However years of piano lessons had ensure that a quarter of her MePod® library consisted of classical music and opera. Vee was unapologetically weird in that fashion. Ronnie and Connie had more than once kidded her about liking 'dead-man' music sung by some overweight pampered tenor in a tux. In another life, she would probably be a classical pianist or singer. Everyone told her that she had the million dollar voice...There was just the erratic, incurable stutter would make any dreams of stardom just outside of her reach.

Right now Violetta was listening to Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli singing _Time to say goodbye_. It was a fitting song and perfect for her mood so she had it on a continuous loop. It was probably the sixty seventh repeat, but she did not care. It was better than that annoying _Shiny happy people holding hand_ chorus that Tita 'Berta had playing incessantly annoyingly on her MePod®.

Violetta Lee sat at the internet café. All the normal kids were playing the latest multiplayer RPG and talking about some enchanted armor/weapon combination. She was committing another cybercrime. Ronnie had passed unto her the basics of what he learned from _Uncle Wade_. While she would never be as good, her working knowledge of computers were on par with most IT professionals and her hacking skills were better than 75-percent of the industry. She also had a talent for social engineering. She had the uncanny ability to find the inherit weaknesses in any social system that can override programming. CEO's can't be expected to remember difficult passwords.

Violetta opened the hidden website that Ronnie and she had put up and activated several of the automated hacking programs that Ronnie had acquired from his _Uncle Wade_. It was like stacking the deck prior to playing No Limit Texas Hold'Em with ten of the world's richest men.

Ronnie's cyber-gizmos allowed the young girl to tap into the Japanese Ministry of Trade and the Japanese tax authorities. She accessed ownership records for the golf course and the house of ill repute were she was temporarily working off the books as a professional dominatrix. There were no owners in common, but all were represented by the Law Offices of Yamaguichi and Yamamomo. Violetta pulled up other records detailing other entities represented by the firm. There was a spider web of linkages which she followed. The firm apparently was an active firm representing its clients' interests here and abroad, including three offices in the United States. The first was in Los Angeles, the second in New York, and the largest office in Washington DC. According to records, the firm gave generously to politicians all over the world.

However, there was little mentioned about the senior partners operating the firm save to say that Mr. Yamamomo is a recluse who spends his time writing on and researching legal issues and that he graduated from the University of Tokyo with a law degree and was admitted to the Bar with a near perfect score. Violetta then hacked into the University of Tokyo's records and found that there was no Mr. Yamamono, but there was a Yamanouchi Hirotaka whose graduated the two years prior and had the same exact score on the bar exam. She pulled English translations of her father's dissertation and compared them to several papers published by Mr. Yamanono. The styles were identical. The works were clear, concise, and unlike most legal briefs, actually brief in length.

_So I got my brains from daddy. Fucked up mental case, but a brainiac._

Vee wondered how people could be so fucking dense. The facts were there. She was not old enough to legally get a driver's license and yet she was figuring things out that no adult ever could.

Vee hated growing up. It seemed that as she grew up she was becoming more like the father she hated and less like her mother. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. She was turning into the very thing she hated most.

* * *

"_You must live. No matter what he does, you must live. I can't stay here. I am not strong like you. I can only do one thing for you. It will hurt, but it's the only way I can save us. As long as you are alive...I'm alive. You can hate. I can't hate. I need your hate. I need your hate to do bad things. I need you to learn to be bad so you can hurt him. One day you will see him dead for me."_

_Susan knew that tonight would be the last night the twins would be together on this earth._

"_He will use you like he used me."_

_Susan nodded. She had seen and due to the implants felt the monster rape her sister._

"_I won't let him be your first."_

_Stacey kissed her sister. Susan knew that it would hurt. However, unlike the monster, Stacey was gentle. The twins were too young, too traumatized to derive any enjoyment from the act, but Susan knew her sister was trying to make sure it did not hurt like the first time Stacey was raped._

_It soon was over. Stacey tugged down there. Susan bit her lip to avoid crying out. Susan felt the tear and blood leaking out from down there, sliding along her thighs._

_Susan's knew that her flower was plucked. She would never again be a good girl. However, she knew that she would never be a good girl. She would become a bad girl like the aunt that no one was suppose to talk about in her family. She would one day kill herself like the aunt who hung herself in her prison cell. Susan wished that she had her aunt's powers, but she did not have any powers yet. She was stronger than her classmates, but she was not as strong as a man. She was not strong like daddy was strong._

However what more can he do to me...kill me and end my pain

_Stacey leaned over and bared her throat to her younger sister Susan._

"_Do it."_

_Thirty seconds later, Susan bit down into the side of her sister's neck drinking her blood so that her sister could not be brought back to this hell. The pain would be unbearable to most humans. However, having suffered the amount of physical and mental abuse that the master inflicted on the twins taught the twins that they could survive pain. Susan forced herself to continue drinking down her sister's blood. The pain only made her more determined to ensure that Stacey's pain would end today._

_The death throes told Susan that Stacey would be forever gone._

_Stacey Groningen died in her sister's arms, broken but defiant. Defeated, yet Stacey had won a victory of sorts._

_Stacey won't be hurt anymore._

Susan Groningen remembered her sister's last moment with every breath she took. However, Stacy did not abandon her younger (by ten minutes) sister.

"_Are you ready," asked Stacy_.

Susan nodded. Tonight was the night. Tonight would be the night that her master would meet his killer for the first time. Susan prayed that the mysterious stranger that Stacey hinted at would do the deed tonight..

Susan was mastering the ways of a professional killer. She had come into the strength that was her father's genetic legacy. She had learned to hurt. She had also learned to love...even though she knew her father would never approve.

Maiko needed Susan to teach her that the Master's love was not the love that the young Japanese girl needed. Susan took Maiko's virginity as Stacey took her virginity.

However the guilt in turning Maiko into a slut like her was nothing compared to the new confusion of emotions that overwhelmed the young child.

It had been two months since she last bled between the legs.

While she did not yet finish the sex education classes or had _The Talk_ with her father, she had learned enough during her captivity that if she did not bleed, she was bred.

_Old enough to bleed is old enough to breed._

The monster had done what he promised. He had made her pregnant.

She was not going to let him win. Either he was going to die or she was going to die. She did not want to see him smile as she was forced to deliver his brat.

She hated the monster and she already hated his brat.

"Maiko-chan," she cooed, "Please…"

Maiko did not know any better. Susan did not teach her that what they were doing was wrong. It was better that way for Maiko. Susan once fantasized about one day returning home. For Maiko there would be no home for the master had killed her parents. Maiko could not survive outside the artificial bubble that the master and Susan created.

"Harder."

Maiko pushed the plastic cylinder inside as hard as she could inside her _older sister/lover_. Susan prayed that it would be enough to destroy the thing that the monster put inside of her.

Susan had seen the videos of what happened to her predecessor. She did not want to star in pregnant porn film. She did not want to give the bastard who did this to her want he wanted most. She would die before giving him another soul to torment as he tormented her.

* * *

_Liszt Industries Laboratory, Huntington, Georgia, USA _

It was not often that Dr. Drakken got to play in his lair.

Even with some of the best businessmen on Wall Street in his employ, he could not risk not holding tightly to the reins of his company. He had to keep his staff too busy to poke and prod into his personal handling of the Special Projects Section.

His lair was perfect in a way that the rent-a-lairs of his old life never was. There was no self-destruct button for any modern day buffoon to tap. The lab was directly below the research labs of one of Liszt Industries many subsidiaries. There were more than enough activities in the upstairs labs such that smuggling extra equipment was a breeze.

It was ironic that Liszt Industries even scored brownie points with the environmental whacks for generating their own _Green Power_ and even sold the surplus to the local utilities. Staying off the local grid meant that no one could find out just how much power he was using on his last experiment.

The room was precise...sterile...ordered in a fashion that would give an anal-retentive pathologist a permanent erection. Along one wall were a dozen cabinets, each one containing the remains of a human life. Most were legally acquired for scientific experiments. Various body parts would be cloned and the bodies rotated back to the upstairs labs for use and later disposal.

However, one body was stolen illegally from its grave. That body was floating in a sterile tank of a nutrient-rich oxygenated gel.

Tonight, Drakken planned on recreating the legend of Dr. Frankenstein...albeit with a more upbeat ending.

If one had to imagine resurrecting the dearly departed one would envision the Tesla coils and arcing electric sparks that the old Boris Karloff Frankenstein movie burned into the collective consciousness.

However the room's appearance was anticlimactic.

_"Therefore, the Lord God banished Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden and placed a flaming sword to protect the tree of life."_

Raise Jewish, Drew Lispkey had heard and read the traditional Judeo-Christian creation myth dozens of times and knew of the Fall of Adam and Eve. Now he was living the ultimate dream. He now had wealth, power, and everything a man could desire, but eternal life.

Tonight he was going to solve the greatest puzzle in the history of mankind.

He was going to partake of the Tree of Life and damn all the gods and superstitious. He would become a god, made immortal by his own hand.

Tonight, he would raise the second of his archangels...his Lilith...Tonight God and Lucifer would become comrades. They would see him and weep...gnashing their teeth in envy of his becoming more than they ever could be.

One by one he replaced the cancer rotten organs of his chosen.

Each organ was perfect. Each cell was perfectly cleaned...free of anything that would weaken it.

Soon he too would undergo this purification, but he first had to bring her back.

He carefully assembled the equipment.

He hit the execute command in perfect counterpoint to the chorus of Beethoven's Ode for Joy. Soon she would dance only for him.

_God could not do things with style like the great Dr. Drakken. Kim Possible...you think you're all that...you are not. I will make you mine. I will give you a hundred thousand lives and take each one from you in the most agonizing fashion. I will make you watch the buffoon die and then I will trick you to kill your son to spare him the pain living through the agony. Then I will bring him back and torture him in front of you. I will let you watch him break and make him a bottom boy before I start in on you. I will make you suffer one hundred thousand indignities and deny you release. Then I will break your all-so-famous father for what he and his buddies did to me._

It had been a long time since he ripped a soul from death's tight grip. He had made his Samuel. Now he will make his Jezebel.

The chemicals entered the body. The electrodes lit up and the heart started beating.

However, the body would not be able to live on its own yet. There was one last step before the body would be a fit temple for the soul that would inhabit it.

Drakken watched as a greenish-blue beam hit the body in the cage. Slowly the figure of a lady who lived a curse life receded into the body of a child. Her teal eyes opened in horror.

"Welcome back to the land of the living...Honey Bonnie."

She tried to scream, but the fluid only entered her lungs. It did not alarm him, as it was part and parcel of the process.

"Don't worry, you will not be alone for long."

Drakken looked up into another vat in the corner.

The next project would take a little longer. Growing a body from fifteen-year-old skin scrapings was more difficult than merely replacing a few defective organs. However the growth of the new embryo was going rather nicely. In a few short weeks, it was be ready for implanting into its host mother.

"I have some bad news. Your son, Robert, couldn't handle life without you and jumped off a bridge. They never found his body...Shame, I would have had some footage of the funereal to show you. But don't worry. In a few short months, you will have a little girl.

He was going to get a Shego that would love him as he once loved her.

However, he had perfected the technique of raising his army of the damned.

Fifteen years of being Theodore Liszt only furthered Drew Lipsky's resentment of the world. Fifteen years of hiding the fact that he defeated his greatest foe. Now he wanted the world to tremble at his fate. Soon this world will be Drakkia.

_You are thinking too small, Drew. You will be immortal. Now only the world...but the heavens will be yours too._

Drew Lipsky would never be the butt of jokes ever again.

* * *

_Contemplation Grove, Yamanouchi Temple, Mei Prefecture, Japan_

Abbottess Tamae and Yori had spent two sleepless nights in the void seeking a way to alter the _mimyaku_, the cords of fate that would dictate the future.

One by one they explode each possibility, but all road lead to the end save one. However to travel that road was to surrender the last Yamanouchi to their dearest enemy.

"Hello, Tamae-sama and Yori-chan, it's time to make a decision. Will you surrender my daughter to me or will you let her and the continuation of our clan end this night?"

The void was quiet save for the pulsating temple on the side of Yori's skull.

"You did this. You had to destroy a hundred innocent lives and in the end you will destroy the life you fought so hard to preserve."

"Yes, I sacrificed hundreds of lives to keep my daughter alive. If I did not she would have died within weeks of her birth. You know the price of shifting a cord against an eight hundred year old curse. Ironic that our ancestors forgot that to cast a curse they had to make an equivalent sacrifice. They cursed Lady Toshi and now her reincarnation is the only hope of continuation of our clan. For centuries they bound her soul in hell and now bind her to a life barely worth living."

"Never!"

Hirotaka summoned a cold iron and silver staff. He did not bother with the theatrics of power. He did not need to for he was the one holding all the aces in this hand.

"Then I must challenge you here and now. No quarter offered or given. I shall give all to the working...Will you match me measure for measure till the furthest star burns to ashes and the highest mountains are laid low?"

Yori was about to announce her acceptance, but Tamae silenced the pair with the look both long feared since their earliest childhood.

"You have won a temporary advantage my nephew. You will have you daughter, but I can read the cords. By giving her life, she will eventually take yours."

"So be it. If she lives, my death will mean something. You don't have to find her...She will come to me tonight. I will provide you enough of her to convince the world she is dead. It's best you bury her memory with the remains of my father."

"He was more man than you ever dreamed of being."

Hirotaka laughed, "Don't be delusional...the old man knew that if he was alive this day he would have to do what you just did. He gave her to me the moment he slit his belly. Sepuku was the only way he could hope to delay me and now his time is over. You, my love, are far more stronger than my father ever was. You will live everyday remembering this day. This moment will eat you like a cancer and poison your life. You will wish for death to take you, but death will not take you for a long time. I have seen your cords and they lead to a nursing home where you will drool in the corner waiting for the staff to change your adult diapers. I at least will die fighting my fate. I will die knowing that my clan will continue the journey of generations our ancestors set us upon nine centuries ago. You will be begging for death to take you in the few moments of lucidity that you will enjoy. As for you auntie, I will spare you the details of your end. Rest assured that you will met our ancestors in due time."

Hirotaka did not have to lie. Lying in the void was virtually impossible, even for someone with the powers that Hirotaka displayed.

"You are a slave, a pawn!"

"You forget...a pawn can become a queen. Only I can prepare my daughter for her new role. You will find enough of her in an alley in Tokyo to silence suspicions."

"What about her lover...you...you seen that thread?"

Hirotaka laughed, "Love...love is just something used to justify the urge to mate. Yori, thank you for hurting me the way you hurt me that night. You were the pebble in the pond that created this wave that is now carrying us off."

Yori and Tamae watched mutely as Hirotaka turned around and disappeared into the void.

* * *

_Lazy C Ranch, Montana, USA_

It took all of Robert's self control to not drive the handset of the old cica-1940's rotary telephone through the thick reinforced walls of the one hundred forty year-old ranch house. Auntie Tara would call only if something bad happen and this topped his list.

It was not enough that his mother's reputation was being dragged through the mud with his grandfather/father on trial. Now some satanic nut dug up her body and doing only God knows what to it.

Robert had a lifetime of pent up rage that threaten to overwhelm him. He remembered when his mother was penniless. He remembered when his mother worked two jobs and when all there was to eat were donations from the local food pantry. He even remembered helping his mother shoplift a Nerf football just so there was something to put under the 99-cent baby Christmas trees from Smarty Mart. His mother worked hard so he could have an opportunity to grow up and not end up on the streets.

The world used his mother and now could not even let her rest in peace after destroying her.

Now he was here in Montana working as a cow hand trying to dodge the puppy-love struck daughter of his boss. The angry, irrational part of him wanted to stick it to her, knock her up, and leave in the middle of the night to wise her up to the harsh ways of the world. Another part of him wanted to return back to California, hunt down the son of a bitch responsible for the outrage that was performed on his mother's body and introduce him to Robert's newly acquired skills with the castrating knife. However, giving into his anger would only make things worse. Robert Rockwaller was supposed to be dead. Robert Daniel Xavier was supposed to be an orphan with no ties to the outside world. Roobert was not allowed to wept for the only person in the world that truly loved him.

He had to take care of things here first. The first is to gently break the heart of his boss' only daughter. The old 'Love them and leave them' game would not work here and now. He was stuck here and there was no running away.

Robert gently placed the handset back on the old rotary phone, planted a fake smile on his face and walked to the helicopter hanger. Today he would have to move another herd to the north pasture.

Robert performed an abbreviated pre-flight check of the military surplus MH-6 _Little Bird_. Everything looked okay and he even checked the maps to make sure there were no low lying power lines in the vicinity.

He had done everything including notifying his boss of where he was going and when he expected to return.

However, Mr. Murphy had a way of screwing up the best-laid plans.

"You know the rules, Mr. Xavier. No one flies out alone. I am sending out your spotter right now."

Robert wanted to be alone so he could think. However he could not argue with the rules. Flying at below tree top level, the pilot was focuses on moving the cattle so someone had to pay attention to any nearby hazards. In the past, Martinez was his spotter.

Today, he would get a new spotter. Martinez had the week off as one of his sister's kids were getting married down in Texas. He knew that fate would stick him with the one that he prayed he would never have to deal with, especially with the things running through his mind.

"Hello, Mr. Xavier. I heard you tried to fly off alone."

It was Jennifer Possible Weiss, the puppy love struck, only daughter, of his boss. She was dressed in a white turtle-neck sweater and a pair of leather lined polo pants. She looked more at home at an exclusive English Public School (what Americans would call a private school) than at a working cattle ranch in Big Sky Country. Even now she was wearing a two sizes too tight sweater in a vain effort to win his attention.

Careful to keep his face bland as a professional poker player at the million dollar table, he nodded, "We have to move the heard to the north pastures. I checked the weather and the maps. I am doing the walk around right now.

He now hated her.

He hated how she could not see that he needed to be left alone right now.

He hated how she thought that she was being clever and yet she was clumsier in her plotting than a newly dropped foal trying to walk.

He wanted nothing more than to hurt her so bad that she would leave him alone.

Robert had a bad side that he kept under iron hard control save for when he was sacking a quarterback or colliding with some unfortunate tailback who tried to play _Hey diddle diddle go up the middle_. Now he did not even have that release. The pressure was building, but he knew that he had to button up and suffer at least a little while longer.

Robert focused his attention on the checklist. Now nothing else existed in his universe. ran down the checklist. Everything was in the green and he half ignored her incessant babbling. He took off towards the northern herd. As he approached his destination, Robert began pushing the limits of his flying skill, the skids on the chopper skimming just a few feet of the ground. He throttled up pushing the chopper faster.

"Robert, slow down and put on some altitude now!"

Robert did not look over nor did he smile. Instead he throttled up the chopper and pressed the cyclic between his legs forward to the stop. The helicopter pitched forward and the airspeed indicator was now over 100 knots.

A part of him was overjoyed that he paid her back for that first helicopter flight he had to suffer. Even though now he was getting proficient in handing the controls of the Little Bird like he once did with his Mini Cooper, he still owed her. He finally made Ms. Devildevil stain her britches.

"Shut up and let me focus on flying, or you will be picking logs from between your teeth Miss Motor-Mouth," he snarled, "Grow up and stop bugging me."

He could see the herd up ahead. He yanked back the cyclic. The helicopter pitched back so neither occupant could see anything but the Montana sky. He returned the cyclic to the middle so that in a single oscillation the helicopter settled into a hover. He pulled up on the collective in his right hand and increased his relative altitude to thirty feet. Slowly he increase his ground speed to a crawl so the cattle would walk, not run, and sweat off some poundage before their date with the slaughter house.

"Robert...I'm sorry about your mother. I was worried that it might..."

That was it. She had listened in on his misery.

"That's it!"

Robert hit the left counter-torque pedal, slammed the cyclic to his left, and increased the throttle. Up ahead was a clearing. He was seeing red and had to get out now before he tried to kill the empty-headed kid in the right seat.

Without another word, Robert landed the chopper, unlatched his five point harness, and started walking away from the chopper. She flicked the kill switch and followed him.

"Get away. Can't you see I wanted to be alone? No, Miss Perfect I Don't Have a Fucking Clue How the Real World Fucking Work, But I Read Too Fucking Many Cowboy Romance Novels Jenifer Possible Weiss had to poke and prod me. Get away from me before I do something that will destroy both our lives."

"Robert you can talk to me about anything..."

Every man has a breaking point where the circuit breaker inside his mind would trip and his control would snap. For most the circuit breaker was set low and the any damage would be relatively minor. However, for Robert "Tripple-R Wrecking Railrod" Rodger Rockwaller, aka Robert Daniel Xavier his was the master circuit breaker for a nuclear power plant. Now the reactor did a Chernobyl.

He turned around and grabbed her. He kissed her roughly and tackled her to the earth.

"You could not get the fucking hint that I am the wrong man for you. You could not get the fucking hint that I am the worse fucking thing for husband material. You had to live in your fucking fantasies and try to rope me into the role of your fucking Prince Charming who would ride in and save you, the ranch, and your perfect world from the evil corporations.

He resisted the urge to zip down the zipper on her flight suit and instead looked at her ripe, developing body. If he was fourteen, he would have tried to con this girl into his bed. Now that he was older and wiser, he knew that he had to destroy her using her insecurities. Teenage girls are always insecure about their bodies.

"You know that when I was fourteen, I fucked twelve year olds with bigger tits than you. You have, however, the biggest cow ass I ever seen. You know what happens to cow asses like yours when someone like me is done with you. It will get bigger with every bastard that someone likes me breeds you."

He kissed her and drove his tongue in her mouth. He knew that he had to stop it before the Evil Robert got out.

"That bitch is the last kiss you will ever get from me."

Her crouch was damp with urine. He had literally scared the piss out of her.

"You are such a slut. Already wet. It's no surprise that you are not already knocked up. Grow up and stop trying to spread your legs before you get in too much trouble, Miss Short-heels."

She stared wildly at him. Prince Charming became the dragon.

He laughed at her tears.

"Do you want to know why I am the way I am? Let me tell you. I was bred a fuck-up. My family tree is so fucking twisted it makes most inbred back-wood's redneck look normal. Even now a part of me wants to zip down the zipper on your flight suit and plant my bastard into your tummy right now so you will learn your fucking lesson the hard way when I leave you raising my brat. Go back to the chopper and fly home before I change my mind and do to you what my grandfather did to my mother. I am leaving. Words of wisdom, this is not the silver screen. God supports the side with the biggest artillery and you and your ranch ain't it. Face the facts...I can't save myself let alone you. Grow up and save yourself...don't expect me to solve all your problems."

"I...I will tell daddy."

Jen knew that line was so childish. It was something her younger brothers would say to her. However, nothing else popped in her mind.

"Oh...Tell daddy. Hell tell everyone back on the ranch and in town. Tell them...Tell them all that I turned you down and broke your soggy heart. Hell, I will tell him myself. Grow up, what kind of father will cheer having his thirteen year old virgin daughter knocked up by some ranch-hand without a future. Think before you open that fly trap you call a mouth. You are nothing but a little girl."

He turned around and walked away into the shrubbery.

He did not care if he got canned the second he made it back to the farm house. He was leaving this dump anyways. He had his commercial helicopter pilot's license and his FAA powerplant and airframe technician certifications.

* * *

Jennifer slowly straighten-up her flight suit and then brushed the dust of the rump.

She did not know why she wept. Did she wept for her nearly lost virginity? Did she wept for the loss of her illusions? Or did she wept for the man who she destroyed?

She knew she pushed Robert into a corner. He avoided her because he did not want her to see the hurt inside of him and yet she insisted on tearing off the scab.

_He is right. You have a cow's ass! Look at Cousin Ronnie's girlfriend. She doesn't have a fat ass and he loves her!_

Jennifer staggered to the helicopter wondering how she was going to save the ranch. Six months ago, she had overheard her mother and father talking about her father's heart condition. Her father was on medication and could not do the physical work he used to do. He already lost his pilot's license when the doctor down checked him on the last flight physical. Her father now relied on Robert to handle the heavy maintenance that running a 55,000 acre cattle farm required. Now she had to chase him away.

_Daddy's going to have to work. He will get sick again and he will die because of you Jen. Good work._

Jen once thought she had the perfect plan.

Get Robert to love her. That way she would have a boyfriend who would love her as Cousin Ronnie loved his girlfriend. Daddy would not have to work so hard. There would be another generation to pass on the family ranch when it was time. And daddy would not have to sell the ranch to Mr. Wittiger's company. Everyone would be happy and things would be so perfect.

Jen had read all the books and tried to set things up. All she had to do was get him to kiss her. Sparks would fly, champagne will flow from the heavens, and a chorus of angels would sing arias as she and Robert physically consummated their love. Soon there would be a wedding, kids, and everyone would enjoy a happily ever after.

However, Robert was not storybook prince who solely existed to save the damsel in distress. He was a man who was pushed too far by some stupid kid who could not figure out that real life was not like the books.

Jennifer took in a deep breath to silence the sobs. She bit her lip in a vain effort to suppress the pain emanating from her gut were Robert tackled her to the earth.

Jen had to finish moving the herd to another section of pasture. She climbed back into the chopper and started it back up. Flying at tree top level was dangerous and required concentration. However, Jennifer's mind was not on the task, but rather her failures and short comings.

Jennifer was awoken by the sound of tree branches whacking the underside of the chopper. Startled she overcorrected and whacked the tail boom against another tree bending it slightly. Jennifer put on altitude to look for a clearing to land in so she could inspect the damage. At eighty feet above the earth, the boom vibrated uncontrollably and snapped off. The chopper started spinning uncontrollably. Jennifer tried to push the control peddles that controlled the counter-torque thrusters, but they did not respond.

The chopper landed with a loud boom that silenced Jennifer's screams.

* * *

_Siberia, Russian Republic_

Gregory Alekseevich examined the encampment below. The _unwanted guests_ had posted sentries, but they were poorly disciplined and were soon stomping the earth to keep awake. The old man taught him about the sentry shuffle and the fact that men doing the sentry shuffle were barely more effective than those who are asleep.

That would be his only advantage tonight.

The surprise attack on the village had killed one comrade and bedridden the boss. Even the legendary Cossack could not do much from his sickbed.

Now it was up to Gregory Alekseevich to protect his mentor and family. Marie and six-month-old Svetlana depended on him. Sure Alekseevich's two comrades were capable warriors, but they had families of their own. Gregory Alekseevich was one of the village orphans prior to being taken in by the old grandfather and the Cossack. Thus he was the only one who was expendable.

Gregory knew that he should notify the old man, but then the old man would become tender hearted and not let him deal with the intruders. Migrate hunters were not unheard of in this place. However military issued 38mm grenade launchers were not standard issue, even for tiger hunters from China.

Gregory resisted the urge to open up and spray the area with his suppressed AKSU74 5.45x39mm Soviet carbine. The weapon was designed for up close and personal contact, not for sniping battles.

He would go boldly forth into the valley and mingle with the opposition tonight. Tonight would be the night that the kid would start his own legend...the Siberian Ninja.

Gregory reached into his pouch and pulled out one of a dozen ninja stars that he would leave as his calling card. Only one would live...live to tell the others that death was stalking this beautiful land for unwanted scum.

Gregory slowly made his way down to the first sentry. As instructed he covered the subject's mouth. The man bit down and tried to summon help but the first ninja star penetrated into the man's twin jugular veins. An eternity later, the death rattle stopped and Gregory left the body under the bushes. There were two more sentries to deal with.

* * *

_Tokyo, Japan_

Violetta knew that someone had won the unofficial bidding war on her professional virginity.

The other girls were not willing to look her in the eyes and would turn away from her.

The local pimp could not even convincingly lie to her about tonight's client. He hinted that the guy was some business big wig with a taste for receiving a good lashing.

However, the two Yakuza bodyguards at the door only make the lie pathetically obvious. They weren't smart enough to cover their tattoos.

Violetta was dressed in a red leather, skin-tight demoness outfit complete with horns, fangs, black bat-like wings, high-heeled stiletto boots, and a riding crop.

The other patrons' ooow and ahhhed over the new meat. She was an unknown and as such the bidding war was furious. Not that she expected to see the money. She did not even expect to see the sun rise up tomorrow.

Hidden in the base of her riding crop was the box cutter she would use to end two lives. Hidden inside the room in a flower arrangement was the Sig Sauer P226 she stole from the Japanese Police back in Nara. She would not kill all Yakuza in the place. One had to be alive to end her life.

The plans were made. The die was cast. Now, strangely calm, she entered the room.

* * *

_Prem, Russian Republic_

"_Da_, I will inform the boss immediately."

Only one man could give the boss bad news such as this without earning a 5.45-mm diameter hole to the back of his head.

It fell to Oleg Ivanovich Radensky to inform the _vor_ (Russian Mafya godfather) that he was fighting a war against people not motivated by any sense of profit, but rather some cult. It was bad enough fighting the Chetchnyans in his youth. At least you could figure out their motivation...use their culture...their religion to exploit their weaknesses.

Two men were guarding the bosses door. From the sounds it was not hard to guest that the old bear was sampling the new merchandise. The grunts and squeals resembled a boar doing a herd of sows proud.

Oleg walked into the door.

The sight was one that he was familiar with. The old man was indeed sampling the merchandise before street release. It did not bother Oleg that the old man was such a leecher...the old man did take care of any offspring. Oleg's mother was the old man's merchandise thirty two years ago. However the old man's forgiveness did not stretch as far to those who were not family.

"Ivan Edwardovich...we have acquired a dangerous foe."

"Son...we have fought Afghans and Chechen scum. So what's another sun-craze follower of Mohammad."

"These can teach the sand lovers lessons on dedication. One nearly singlehandedly killed fourteen men before our men even knew he was there. When he was cornered he thrust a knife into his throat before trying to kill another. We have him, but I am not sure if he will make it here...let alone being able to get anything from him. One such as he is not motivated by any amount of hard currency."

The old man actually paused in his lovemaking and motioned the harlot to the other room.

"You were right to interrupt me. These ones are very dangerous. However the most dangerous ones are the most desperate ones. Find what they value so highly and control it...and you control them. Hire real men...real fighting men who can survive in worst corner of hell with a smile on their faces. I don't care how much it costs...I want them dead or better yet serving me. All folks have a breaking point...it's just a matter of finding the proper leverage. Oh yes...tell the men just to work the bastard over and leave him for the scavengers. Bears and wolves need to eat so they too can deficate in the woods."

The old man laughed at the line and called in the harlot.

Oleg walked out. He had survived an experience many would not and that called for a little Russian antifreeze. Despite what those global warming folks say, it was going to be a cold summer.

* * *

_Lazy C Ranch, Montana, USA_

Robert felt the concussion of the crash and the roar of twisting metal.

_It's your fault. You quit and she had to...You could have been a man and waited until you were back at the ranch before you told her off._

Robert found himself running towards the wreck. The smell of fuel was strong and there was already a small fire.

For the rest of his life, Robert did not know how he summoned up the courage, but somehow he dove into the fire. The flames were licking his exposed skin, but he had a job to do.

He took his knife and cut into the harness webbing.

Thankfully, the crash knocked her out so he did not have to listen to her screams as the fire burned her face, hands, and hair. He had to cut off the woolen sweater as it burned on her body.

The last thing he remembered was sitting at the bottom of the hill with her charred body in his arms. Somehow she was still breathing and that told him that he had one last duty.

Having grown up in Southern California and use to living in wild fire country, Robert knew how to evade wildfires. Fires tended to burn uphill so he climbed down into the valley. He had truly messed up an innocent life and now letting the wildlife and Montana winters doing him in was no longer an option.

He opened his thigh pocket and pulled out a topographic map of the ranch. He was no country boy about to navigate by the watching which way the moss grows. However, he knew that the sun would set in the west. All he had to do was head south and if Jen lived long enough, he would hit the Lone Tree creek. It was a favorite watering hole and there was always a resident cattle herd. There would be a couple ranch hands to help her.

There will be enough time later to blow his brains out with one of the shotguns keep stashed in case one of the local wildlife decide to attack the livestock. He will just make sure to wander off into the woods so the local health authorities will not close down the ranch while they investigate his suicide.

* * *

Joss Possible Weiss knew there was trouble when she spotted the black smoke column on the northern horizon.

_Dear God, please don't let it be Jen._

However the Almighty did not heed her prayers.

She called out on the radios, but the only helicopter that did not reply was the one Robert and Joss were flying. She recalled that the pair were herding the northern herd.

The ranch had a rash of troubles. The price of beef was at a ten year low and the price of feed and fuel was at a five year high. The ranch was mortgage to the hilt. Her father and husband had health problems. Now, she had to face the loss of her daughter.

God hated her. She failed the Lord in some way and now God was taking away her only daughter. Joss had two sons, barely toddlers. However they would not be old enough soon to work the ranch. If she lost Jen, then there would be no further use in trying to delay the inevitable.

Joss sucked back the tears. She had to the rock of the ranch. She had to coordinate the search and rescue efforts. She had to do a lot of things. However the tears would not stop. The pain in her chest would not stop. The pain in her chest was the last thing that Joss would remember before collapsing on the kitchen floor.

* * *

_Middleton, Colorado, USA_

Kim set down the telephone receiver.

In many ways, her son was like his father. Lazy, clumsy, more interested in _snackage_ than working out. However, today her son became like her.

Ronnie was alive...for now. His girlfriend Vee was not.

She hated Yori for failing to protect the only thing that kept her functioning without the love of her life. She hated the world for not finding Hirotaka. Most of all, she hated herself for letting her son out of her sight.

She could not just up and leave. Tomorrow was opening arguments in the Rockwaller trial. Craig Rockwaller had bought a team of highly paid legal mercenaries to try to get him out. They hated her for refusing to cut a plea bargain. If she did not show, they would argue for a mistrial.

There was only one way to cut the pain.

Despite vowing to never break the seal on her moonshine stash, Kim found herself naked on her bedroom floor with an empty jug of liquid forgetfulness.

* * *

_Tokyo, Japan_

Violetta stopped dead the second she saw the two girls kneeling in front of her father.

One little girl was seven and the other was nine. However that was not what held her up.

The older girl was a dead ringer for her biological mother.

_Not again. I will not let you destroy another life as you destroyed our lives._

"Keiko-chan, I have been waiting fifteen years for this day. We can be a family again."

Vee did not remember what he said next. Years of hated and anger had shut down her higher thought processes. She leapt, somehow drew her slim box cutter she hid in her right sleeve. Hirotaka sidestepped her wild slashes and launched a straight kick towards her rib cage. Some instinct caused her to twist so the kick glanced off.

Vee found herself on the ground. She scissor-kicked knocking her sire to the ground, spun and popped up into a jumping axe kick.

"Impressive. I once fought Kim Possible and she could not even touch me. You on the other hand are deadly, inventive...playful. We are going to have lots of fun together in sparring practice."

"The only _fun_ you are going to have is being the bottom boy in hell, father."

Both father and daughter were too good in their respective fighting styles for one to win save by accident and with these two accidents had an ice cube's chance in hell of occurring. Exhaustion would determine the first to fall.

Vee was breathing heavily and knew her movements were becoming sloppy. She looked at the father and the old man was not even breaking a sweat. She had to throw off his mental game if she was going to win.

Vee flipped the box cutter into a reverse grip. Her father launched a right hook. It was just slow enough for her to trap it and get close to the jugular.

She grabbed his right wrist with her right hand and slashed at his right jugular with her left backhand. Blood was spilling on the floor. There was a sudden loud bang, a painful kick, and her insides were on fire.

She found herself on the floor looking up at the smoking end of a nine-millimeter pistol.

She tried to get up but her body failed to respond.

"You did not think I would not find the pistols you had stashed in this room. Thanks for the gift. It was not ironic that when you tried to pretend you were someone else, you chose the name that I gave to you while you were still in your mother's womb. Not ironic, it was providence...fate...the working of the cogs of destiny. As a child, you were your mother's to mold. As you grow up, did you notice yourself becoming more like me?"

Vee knew that her father had shot her. He had hidden one of her pistols under his jacket and shot her when she was up close and personal.

She tried to yell, but she was coughing up blood.

"He who follows best follows from the front. I lead you here so I could personally finish your training. Don't fight me...it was always your destiny to join me. Together as father and daughter we will remake the world in our image."

_Tell the world it's seriously fucked! Tell him that he is delusional because the asshole just killed me._

She spat at him. A dollop of bloody mucus trailed down his face. He just pulled out his handkerchief and wipe it off. Then he smiled.

"When they brought me back, I too did the same. I fought hoping to find an escape from my cage. You expect that death would free you...Death is only the beginning of your journey, my child. Sorry, but I have to hurt you much as they have hurt me. Ironic that we define what we value by the pain and sacrifices we have to make."

Her father pulled the trigger twice and Vee descended into the darkness.

"I hope you will never have to find out how hard it was for me to do all this. I don't expect your forgiveness or understanding. Hatred...keeps us alive. Remember, my hand reaches into Yamanouchi. If you fail me, your lover will pay the price. Thanks for the gift of some of your organs...don't worry there will be a 'New and Improved You' in a few short months."

* * *

Ronald Possible awoke in the room screaming in pain.

"Sorry 'bout that, but I did not want you to return back to your mother addicted to painkillers," a voice in the darkness replied. "I changed your bag to a standard drip. It will hurt _a lot_ but you will need all your faculties."

"Who...you?"

The shadow just shook her head.

"Ronnie, I need you to listen. They found Violetta-san's body this morning."

"Liar..."

She placed her finger near her mouth making the universal sign for silence.

"They don't know that I told you, okay. The only reason I am risking getting thrown out of this school and dishonoring my family is the fact that you are the only family she has left that can handle the truth. I am not going to risk everything for some prank."

Ronnie bit his lip to hold back the scream. It was as if someone was taking steel wool to his guts.

"They will lie to you. They will tell you that she died in the same battle you were wounded in. It's a lie."

Ronnie was confused.

"She traded herself if they agreed to drop you off at a doctor's. They agreed and took her to her father's. You know he is still obsessed with her mother. He picks his victims by how closely they resemble her and Vi is...was as close as one could get without being twins. She chose to die rather than suffer as her mother did. However, death does not matter when it come to sating Hirotaka's lusts."

Ronnie collapsed from the news. He did not want to believe that fate had..."

"Ronnie, you cannot avenge her in your current state or frame of mind. Hirotaka would spot you a thousand kilometers off and you will end up broken...destroyed before you even have a chance. I don't have the time to go over the esoteric lore now, but he can sense a pure aura like yours. You need to blend in...dirty up your aura. Yori-sensei and the others will not share with you the darker side of the Yamanouchi arts. I can help you learn, but you must vow to keep our arrangement a secret."

"How do I know this is not a joke?"

"Yori-sensei will come in here when things are ready. She will tell you the story. She will say that the remains are unviewable. However, there will be a funeral in ten days for her. The night before the cremation, I will take you to see her. Hirotaka left nothing but a few organs and blood in his rage. If she died in a gun battle, there would be an intact skeleton no matter how many rounds were used. _Wakarimasu ka_ (understand)?"

"But I am..."

"You will heal and return back home never to return back here again. Violetta-san death will ruin Yori-sama's chances of being one of your teachers where she can watch over you and train you. With the official investigation, she will be held here for many months. So she will have to insert a watcher. I was picked to watch you. I will be officially watching you. I am there only to watch and need be protect you...but I will also train you in how to get close to the scum who hurt your lover and give you a fighting chance of taking them to along with you to hell. That's all I can promise...you will probably die in this quest."

Ronnie had difficulty believing everything. He wondered if it was not his painkillers and guilt getting to him.

"I got to go. Remember that I will see you before the eve of the funeral. There you will have to decide the truth and pick your destiny. Know this, I might hold things back, but I will never lie to you. Yori will lie if it suits her purposes. You will see things for yourself soon. Chose wisely for after then, there will be no going back."

Suddenly, the figure vanished in the darkness. As if she was a ghost.


	57. Paying the Piper

**Moving Onwards **

**Paying the Piper **

**By Pat Squared**

* * *

"I'll advise that you don't do that!"

The words were just out of his lips. The young child started frantically yanking on the restraints. Blood gust out of her bandages.

"If you have not noticed, you are in the body of a five year old and a pretty weak one at that."

She was shaking uncontrollably as she was burning up.

"Maiko, keep her on ice. We can't let the fever burn her alive."

The air in this small room was sticky moist with the scent of pain. Her pain. He breathed deeply.

"Keiko-chan…soon we will be a family again. The Manson family perhaps, but still a family."

She spat at him.

He savored the moment. Such moments was what made fatherhood worth it.

* * *

Ron carefully moved the sheet and saw what lied underneath.

Death was kinder than seeing what was left of his soul.

_It's all true._

Yori-sensei had lied. He knew that she lied before she even opened her mouth. However, there was a little hope in his heart.

Now he had to wait for the grave before he could ever see her again.

A small figure came up and hugged him.

_Nene Keane_.

She was the one who came to him that night. She was the one who took away the liquid love from his veins.

Even now, he could feel the need of his body for the painkillers.

_Was this what's is was like for Vee?_

It was all he could do…just to stand let alone…

"Ron…you have two choices. Live or die."

He wanted to choose death as she choose death. Death would be kind versus a life where all his memories were of her. He could not remember anything before her and he did not want to live without her.

Ronnie Possible bit his lip. He needed the poison…he needed the pain…he needed her…he needed things that he could not even imagine.

"I choose death…I am dead…I am just waiting for my body to catch up to my soul."

Nene closed her eyes.

"You cannot let her go. In a way, you created her. Now you must complete the circle and destroy her," the Japanese girl wisphered.

"Destroy…"

Nene hushed him by kissing him.

"Hirotaka-dono (lord) might be the scum of the universe. However, he is a Yamanouchi bred and trained scum. He can sense your aura. It burns even me. Your aura must be cold…heartless…without remorse. You must kill everything she ever loved about you to have a chance to get close enough to drive this through his heart."

Nene handed him a wrapped package.

"How the fuck am I suppose to sneak a sword past his thugs?"

"He will let you in. He will aim to destroy you as he destroyed her. As long as you live, you have half her soul. He wants it all. You father once held this blade. Now it's your turn."

Ronne drew out the blade.

"Long ago, a demon came among us. She killed the masters of the mystical monkey arts and set our clan on the path of pain, exile, and loneliness. All save you trace some part of our past to this demon. Our ancestors, her own children, killed her and trapped a part of her soul in this blade. That is why we cannot use this blade. If we do so we will be processed by the drives of a demon. Blood calls out to blood. _Toshi-dono_ (Lady Toshi) will only be used by those she chose…or worse yet to those she loves."

"Demons in love?"

Nene shook her head, "Love is powerful. Love transcends even death. The demoness fell in love with one Lord Nakamura. She wanted him to be her consort. She wanted his soul to be hers forever when it was time for him to return back to hell. She made the mistake of falling in love. A demon in love cannot be a demon…only a damned soul…not even a whole soul but half a soul. Once a demon loves, she is cursed to follow her love through eternity until her love transforms her and makes her soul whole."

Ron Possible had hear of a lot of things, but demons were like the boogymen...Stories told to keep kids in line.

"And what, oh mystic one?"

"Lord Nakamura. Eight hundred years ago, you bound a demoness to your service. You took her in and she committed the ultimate sacrifice for you. She spent centuries in hell suffering for the opportunity to rejoin you."

Ron searched her face half-expecting Vee to come out and call it a joke. However, it was obvious that she obliviously believe this tripe.

"You're mad!"

"I might have some emotional issues, but madness…It's a little extreme, Possible-san. Even now, you bear marks of your sins. She loved you enough to inhabit the body of a child fated to die so she could have your love for a few short years. She was dying, Possible-san. She would have died in a few short days after her birth. All her powers could not stop it. Only buy fourteen years of life. A few short months of being your lover is the reward for her damnation."

"Vee is no demon."

"We are all demons. Each and every one of the students of Yamanouchi bear some measure of her blood, albeit filtered by time and generations. When Vee was among us, we all knew what she truly was and know who you were. We all came from the union of Lord Nakamura and his silent demoness. You might not carry the DNA, but some of us can spot the weight of the sins of your prior lives. Let's see…Hiel Hitler…Herr Hitler…"

"That's not fucking funny!"

"What better justice for one who hates Jews to be reincarnated as a Jew…even a non-observant one like you? Do you wish to know who your Eva Braun was? What about the Josephine to your Napoleon? Vee, for each and every reincation, is cursed to fall in love with you and doom to have that love shattered by you or by fate. At least this time around you actually loved her to the end. It was one of her better lives."

"What better curse for one who killed her husband's family for the love of another man who would never love her back or worst yet have it and have it cut short."

This was quickly becoming bullshit…it was bullshit. No way in hell he was that faggot Hilter. No fucking way he was some monster who threw Jew in the oven.

"That's it!"

"I promised you the truth…I did not promise you that it will be easy. Yori-sensei would lie to you…she did lie to you. I will be alone in my quarters until sun-up. Third sub-basement, room twenty four. If you wish to live in a lie, just go back to bed and believe that this is a hallucination brought on by drug withdrawal. If you are strong enough to face the truth…then come to my room with nothing but the blade I gave you and a commitment to swear an oath of absolute obedience to me for the next four years. Be prepared for I will strip away your dignity…your soul…everything she loved about you. You must pay the piper for your sins…her sins…and interest."

Ronnie walked off towards his hospital room muttering. There was no effing way he would follow Miss Spirit Reader. What's next…his name was Ogg and he discovered fire burning his entire cave up in the process.

_Crap on this reincarnation bullshit!_

He was not going to trust Miss Psychic Eye with his life. It was like Morpheus on crack.

* * *

Robert woke up to the beep beep beep of a heart monitor.

He looked around and saw what appeared to be miles of IV lines entering her body.

The former starting middle linebacker for USC could not even lift up his arms.

_You deserve this and more. You could not be man enough to do the right thing. If only you kept your trap shut. The best thing for you to do is to suck off the muzzle of a loaded shotgun as you toe the trigger._

The heart monitor announced that he was still among the living. It did not take long for the world to intrude.

"Thank you for saving Jen. She's in a coma, but you at least brought her back."

_It should have been you in the coma, or better yet being shit out by some savengers._

He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. He words were slurred.

"The doctors told me that you suffered from dehydration and heat stroke. You should make a full recovery. Just rest up for now."

Slim Possible and Matthew Weiss, Jen's dad, actually gave him the thumbs up.

_What an effing nice hell? You sure know how to pay the piper, Robert. They think you are some hero and you can't tell them otherwise._

He did not want to be the hero. He wanted to be loathed…hated…be seen for what he really was. He was the leftovers…the end result of generations of Rockwaller perversity. He should have jumped off the bridge for real.

* * *

_Graphic Chapter _

Craig Rockwaller carefully inspected his jail cell.

The jail cells in Middleton, Colorado were old. Seven by nine feet. Brick and steel circa 1910. There were galvanized pipes exposed hanging from the ceiling on pretty substantial hangers.

There was no way he would let himself undergo the indignity of a trail. He will not be put with common thieves…faggots…queers…the whole lot. He was not a faggot. He will not be used like one.

_The brick walls…_

Craig Rockwaller remembered the brick walls of the old house.

_"Craig." _

_"Yes, grandfather," the six-year-old boy asked _

_"It's time you learned what it meant to be a real Rockwaller. Wealth is great. Influence is great. There are many great things to being a Rockwaller. However all great things have a price. You have to pay for it in some fashion." _

_"How?" _

_"You have to learn what it is like to be powerless. To be less than some drunken whore working some dirty alley. You have to learn how to take power…keep power…grab power. The day you are satisfied…you are content…someone will take it all away. I will be damned if I let your training slide. Strip." _

_Craig was stunned at the last word. However he knew not to comply was to be punished. _

_Craig's clothes were around his ankles. _

_"Words have power. Your words are commands. They must be phrased as such and are not requests. Kiss it." _

_Craig did not know what his grandfather was referring to. At least until his grandfather grabbed him by the hair and forced the six-year-old's face into his hairy crotch. _

_"Power is taken. Sex, wealth, influence….all the same…they must be taken." _

_For the next two years, Craig endured the old man's lesions. He mastered them. He killed the old man and took his sister in the same night. No more would he fall again. He killed to take his power. _

_Tonight he will kill to preserve it._

They did not give him blankets. They knew better. However they could not deny a man underwear. The Middleton jailer were stingy. They were not going to waste good underwear on a man who was arrested in a good pair of boxers. LL Bean boxers were rugged enough for what he needed them to do.

The guard collected the meal tray. Two boiled hotdogs. While it was not fillet mingeon, it was better than the over stuff they served.

It was time to retake his power.

He striped to his birthday suit.

Carefully he tore the elastic band off his underwear.

He hung in over one of the pipe.

He stood on his mattress.

He stuck his head in a loop.

He stepped off the bed.

It was not a clean snap. However, he did not care much.

He learned to love asphyxiation. It was something he kept to himself. He did not want to make things easy for his pets.

He though of his Bon Bon as he reached down there. He took pleasure in the memories of conquering her. Unlike her sisters, his little Bon Bon resisted his attentions. She instinctively knew the lesions that he suffered for two year.

_Yes, someone can take your power. However, they have not taken it all until your spirit is broken and you give up._

Bon Bon was the most like him. She would have made a good son and perhaps a great student as he was once his grandfather's greatest student.

The darkness was coming. He would go to hell like all good Rockwaller's do. The Devil will grin at him and he would grin right back. There was a hell of a lot to pay the piper when this dance with the Devil was over. However, Craig Rockwaller would do the same again. He would go out with all his power.

_Bon Bon was screaming as Connie and Lonnie held her down. _

_"Dad!" _

_Craig smiled as he hurt her, tearing away the little girl and leaving behind a little breeding whore like his sister/wife. _

Bon Bon was special. She would be coming for him. He knew it. He waited for her until he released and the darkness came.

* * *

Ronnie Possible looked at the nude form cuddle up next to him and wondered just how far this rabbit hole went.

_Nene Keane_…

His dead girlfriend was not cremated yet and he was already banging away at her replacement.

He wanted to die.

_You were right when you choose death._

The problem was that Death-death was not the death he chose.

Damnation…he was into his third hour.

Nene woke up and looked at him.

"I once was in your place."

He did not want to speak.

"The man who hurt her…he hurt me."

Ronnie's mind woke up with the last phrase.

"You know where he is…"

Nene shook her head.

"I was six. My parents, my baby sister, Maiko, and I were taking a train to here. They did not tell us much. Just that I was going to the same school my parent went. It was a grand adventure when all your life was spent in the same Tokyo suburb. There was an accident. The train derailed."

Ronnie looked at her eyes, they were moist.

"My mother, sister, and I woke up in a dark room. My sister was injured in the head and was half out of it when she was awake. The door opened and the light was blinding.

"Three men came in and dragged my mother out. One other dragged me out.

"We were separated. I remembered screaming for my mom, but the man kept hitting me and calling me names."

Nene bit back a sob.

"I was forced to watch my mother bargain her life and my virtue away to save our lives. They used her to show me what was in store for me. Then he came in and used me. I don't know just how long. Days, weeks, months…Just that they were filming and in the end I was broken. They made her count and remind me of everything they did so that my sister would not be hurt. Then to protect my sister, they handed me a knife.

"I must have been nine, because I was already starting to bleed. They held a knife to my sister's throat. Mother commanded me to slice her throat. I couldn't. So he walked up and gripped my hand over the dagger. Instead of quickly dispatching my mother, I had to hold unto the knife as he slowly cut her up. Afterwards, he took me and made me his pet in the ways of pain."

"How did you escape?"

"Once I showed that I can hurt others as he hurt me, he let me go free. He told me to come to this place, recover, and become strong…ruthless. He told me that I would find you…that I had to tell you only the truth. He foresaw that one day, you would kill him. He did not want to die by the hand of a weak foe. Yori knows this. She knows everything that happens in this school."

Ronnie looked at her.

"Please don't look at me with those eyes. He has my sister and if I did not do what he told me…she would end up like me. Ronnie, you don't know just how twisted he is. I do. Physical pain, rape…that is easy to take. You just endure. You just tell yourself that he forced it upon you. It is when you break and hurt others that you realize just how damned you are."

Nene eyed the sword.

"I could beg you to kill me. I hoped that you would. I deserve whatever hate you heap on me. Thank you, Ronnie. I sleep alone in this room because of the nightmares. I scream so they put me out here so the other students can sleep. This was first night I slept in peace for four years. I am ready."

Ron looked at the sword.

"No, Nene-chan. You won't get away that way. You owe me four years. Maybe then I can become the monster he wants me to be."

He walked up and hugged her.

"Then I must apologize in advance for what I must do, _Possible-dono_ (Lord Possible). You will do far worse than he could contemplate in the name of love. Please, forgive me for when I am too weak, sentimental, to properly teach you the ways of the damned."

The pair found themselves on her futon. No further words would be exchanged. Just an acceptance of the price to be paid for the damnation of a soul.

He knew then that she was right about the Hilter part. He was in love with two girls who gave themselves to him and yet, there was no chance of a happily ever after in the deck of fates.

_Hell of a way to pay the piper._

* * *

The fever was only getting hotter.

As Violetta Lee was burning up, Hirotaka Yamanouchi only smiled and would occassionally pat her in the head like an owner does to a loyal dog.

She hated this. She hated needing him. However in this small dark room, her father's presence was the only constant...outside the shakes and pain.

"Soon, you will understand why you are the way you are. Being just another kid...that was never a part of your fate, Keiko. A father hates seeing his child in pain. However sometimes that is a father's job."

_Father. He is just another fucking sperm donor._

"Soon, you will find your true gift and then we can start on your training."

_True gift. I hope it involves slowly filleting daddy over an open fire._

He turned away and walked out the room leaving her back in the darkness.

Another spasm rocked her small body. The wetness between her leg told her that she had lost bowel control...again.

She was starting to see dead relatives. Her mom would sneak in and just stare at her.

"Please come and take me with you. I don't care if we end up in hell. Just don't let him get me."

However, mom would just turn around and leave.

Violetta knew that soon she would go mad in the darkness.

Maybe this was hell.

If so, then was she mad enough, yet.

Vee closed her eyes and tried to remember something.

However all her memories did was torture her.

_If only you went straight back to the school. You could be with Ronie right now._

She had to escape.

She started yanking furiously at her restraints. However, that was useless.

Vee focused her anger on the things that was holding her here.

Suddenly her hands were hot.

The room lit up with a dark greenish glow.

The room was on fire and the smoke alarm was going off.

He stepped in with a smile.

"Didn't anyone tell you that before your mother was an involutary guest of at a Global Justice experiemental ward, she was the most wanted female on the planet?"

Her hands hurt. It was hot, but she could not turn it off.

"You will thank me for this."

He took out a black box and touch the electrodes to her neck.

As she fell into darkness, she found herself thanking the man she wanted to kill most in the world.

**

* * *

****AN**: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. 

This is the end of the second movement. As in a symphony, the second movement is sad and slow moving. I hope that you enjoyed it. I am currently plotting out the third movement.

This will probably be a hundred chapter work as I explore the human capacity for darkness.

Pat Squared.


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